Kyrios had gone looking for a ghost. Atropos was out looking for her brother, her absence growing longer with each day that passed. Karina and her daughter had abandoned their family, chasing after a dragon.  Kjors was dead—a discovery that had brought the alpha great relief. Since he and the Baranski widow had dismissed the dragon from their ranks Lachesis had not given the older male much thought. He had had increased patrols and meandered through the neighbouring territories to ensure the one-eyed wolf’s scent was not lingering. But after not even detecting a whiff of the exiled wolf XIX was certain they had seen the last of him.

Fortunately for the river wolves, it had been.

He worried constantly about his missing children and while he wasn’t watching the borders, or keeping an eye on the Hearthwood women, he was scouring the base of the mountains. Searching for something—anything—that would give him a lead on their whereabouts.

Before the morning light cut through the expanse Lachesis hugged the west side of the lake, his long legs carrying him quickly over the terrain. Once again, the ghost was returning home without the twins at his side. His concern only deepened, gnawing away at his stomach. It did not take him long to return to river territory, but he did return to Hearthwood just yet. Instead, he continued north, seeking refuge in the ethos as the sun kissed the horizon.

Not only did he worry about his children and the future of the river pack, but he always worried about the blue-eyed sparrow. He feared that once spring passed and Lilya went back to her normal adorably anxious self she would no longer feel the same. XIX couldn’t handle another loss. It pained him to think that this was temporary. For amongst all the darkness that shadowed his thoughts, she was the light.

Once he reached the ethos the ghost collapsed against the snow-dusted ground, a loud sigh rolling off his tongue. He was thankful for his alabaster fur—with all the worrying XIX did he would have gone gray (or white) much sooner than most.

His paws ached from his late night venture and the thought of getting up—of moving—was daunting. However, returning alone was far more painful. Atropos had promised a swift return but as the days continued to pass, Lachesis was beginning to doubt that he would see his daughter before the end of March. His brows furrowed at the thought, a deep line cutting across his maw. He just hoped that when she returned Kyrios would be at her heels, for he could not bear the thought of losing both of his children.

The ghost did not stir as the sun slid past the horizon and illuminated the ethos. He relished the moment of silence he had to himself, as he knew it would not last long. Soon he would have to return to his duties. But, for now, he wanted to pretend as though he had none.

Unfortunately for Lachesis, the bliss did not last long. It never did.

The smell of copper slapped, aggressively, against his nostrils, causing Lachesis to scramble to his feet. A line formed between his brows as he realized that the muddy stench of Whitestone was entwined with Lilya’s. The ghost was quick to close the space between them, his nose brushing against the cut along her neck gently, chartreuse eyes widening with concern. “What happened, Val? Are you alright?” He asked softly as he moved his nose to her cheek, all previous thoughts brushed (temporarily) to the side. Why did she smell of the monadnock? Was one of Craw’s wolves responsible? Had their alliance been severed without his knowledge? “Who?” The single word dripped off his tongue with venom, the fur on his back bristling. He would have to speak to the silver spider about this.

His suspicions were confirmed as the blue-eyed sparrow sputtered out a response. A Whitestone wolf had attacked her—for what reason? The agouti knew better than to trespass. While the alliance was strong between the two packs, they were still respectful of each other’s borders. They did not tread lightly around the well marked borders and only crossed them if they were invited. The ghost knew that Lilya had no reason to lie to him about what had happened—especially about a pack they were supposed to be aligned with.

“What did he look like?” He asked as his paws curled into the snow-dusted ground, brows narrowing darkly. “I thought so, too,” he grumbled as he lowered his hindquarters, lips still twisted into a grimace. Lachesis motioned for her to come close, his apple-green eyes wandering to her injured paw. “Let me see your wounds,” the ghost murmured, his tone much softer than it had been before. It pained him to know he had not been there to protect her. He hoped that her attacker had not left without a few scares, as well. Craw was going to have some explaining to do if his wolves were going around attacking river wolves.

There was a different scent mixed in with the coppery stench; one that perplexed the medic. It was still as intoxicating and captivating as it had been before, but it was different. His lips fell into a thin line. Perhaps it was the lingering scent of the monadnock wolf. Or something more. He would worry about the change once her injuries were tended to. 

White fur, yellow eyes. Once the blue-eyed sparrow was tended to Lachesis would pay their neighbours a visit. He wanted an explanation as to why one of their wolves attacked his without being provoked. All of the Whitestone wolves XIX had encountered had not been aggressive—defensive, maybe, but certainly not aggressive. The ghost was just thankful that things had not turned out worse. Hearthwood was not prepared for a brawl. They had always lived peacefully in the expanse, keeping to themselves and minding their own. Lachesis wanted it to stay that way.

He had the necessary herbs tucked away in the infirmary to treat both her wounds and the sprain, but first he had to get her there. A soft smirk rolled onto his pale maw at her comment as he examined her neck wound, his expression softening. His stomach twisted at the thought of him not being there to defend her. He knew that she was capable of handling her own, due to her violent past, but Lachesis couldn’t help feeling protective. Aside from his children, she was all he had—he could not imagine losing her too.

“Do you feel okay, other than the injuries?” He asked, still perplexed by the unusual scent that accompanied her. Something seemed off but he couldn’t figure it out. The smell of blood was distracting him, clogging up his thoughts. He pressed his nose to her cheek, ears falling flat against his skull. “Come here,” he instructed, gently, as he motioned for her to lay down, “I’ll clean the cuts out.”

If it was not for the bleeding sparrow before him Lachesis would have charged out into the lowlands and dealt with the situation immediately. Her attacker could still be lurking around nearby and the ghost wouldn’t mind sharing a few words with him.

However, he had much more important things to tend to. Like the gash on Lilya’s neck. Raising hell with the Whitestone wolves could wait until the blue-eyed agouti was back in Hearthwood.

The ghost hummed softly at her reply, his chartreuse gaze narrowing as she settled down in front of him. He used his paw to press snow into the cut on her neck, his nose doing the rest of the work as he gently worked it into the gash to clear out the dried blood. The cold substance would help in numbing any pain that Lilya might be feeling until he got something in her system. “Just making sure,” he mumbled in response as he nipped at the air above her ear. Something about her scent made him worry about her more than usual, but he couldn’t tell her that. He did not want to curb her independence. XIX had already done that once before and had nearly driven a wedge between them. Fortunately for the duo, his watchful eye had actually brought them closer, but he did not know if things would work out so positively a second time.

As he pressed a second layer of snow into her cut the sparrow spoke once more, her words barely audible. He touched his nose to her cheek, briefly, lips falling into a soft frown. “I should’ve been out there,” he retorted, his toes curling into the cold ground. “You did good,” he added, his tone much smoother than it had been before. She had come back with all of her limbs, which was a bonus. A few scars were nothing.