Blossom

Sandy fur pulled in the breeze, shifting constantly against the gangly boy to which it belonged. He was lost. Lost! How ever would he find his way back now? He had never seen this wood before. The trees were unfamiliar and every scent was a new one. Times like these Torrian longed for his mother, but perhaps this was best. She had been overbearing, natural he supposed for she had lost his two siblings to the power of birth. She had not spoken of them but Torrian thought of them often. Would they have played? As a pup he had lived in a small pack with a pair of twins. He would lay beside his mother who was too cautious to allow him to join, and watch them bowl each other over and nip at exposed targets. It looked fun, their rough play. He was a flower, his mother said. He was fragile and his bones would not survive the impact of another pup's body. And so there he sat by his mother's side, his head lowered and ears flattened dejectedly against his skull. They left that pack not so long after they had been accepted and Torrian had never glimpsed another pup after that.

He walked slowly, his head lowered as if against a strong headwind. His tail hung between his legs and he stared at the ground as though it was the only thing he could see. Midday had long passed and the night was battling the day, the clashes of orange and blue painted the sky above him, but Torrian had no patience for the sky. He had heard of a herb that he might find among these bushes that eased stomach ache and he hoped to find it before darkness blanketed his vision.