They were able to return. Their home was not in the greatest shape, but it was home, and the worst of the storms had gone. There was a bit of happiness at being able to return home, but still worry as well. F?licien would give a soft whine, looking around. Mud all around... and still a certain wolf had not come to them. Bi-colored gaze searched desperately, his heart aching. His father... had he... his mind would reel, and he'd take a few steps deeper into the territory, the mud squishing between his toes with each step. There were parts of the lands still flooded, including the dens where his family spent much of their time.
Was he really gone? F?licien was praying against all odds that he wasn't, but the young male was losing hope. Ears lay against his skull, turning his attention to Novella, hoping against odds she might have heard something, anything, and just forgotten to tell them. "Is there still no word on my dad...?"
"Speech"
