The snow was slowly starting to melt, disappearing from the lower elevation territories first. He sauntered through the trees, his gangly legs working quickly to cover as much terrain as possible. The boy was looking to hunt, or scout for information—whichever came first. Part of him wanted to make a detour up the mountain, to seek out his grandmother’s home, but he didn’t know if he was ready for that. Whenever he thought about her a sour taste filled his mouth and a sinking feeling weighed down his stomach. He was worried he was already too late—that the illness that she carried had consumed her.

His tail flicked absently to dismiss the thought as he approached the fold, his mismatched eyes sweeping around the blossoming terrain. A frown creased his features as he recalled the last time he’d visited the base of the mountain. He and a strange female, Rory, had gone searching for Cottongrass together. The yellow-eyed fluff was still missing, which made Sachiel fear for the worst. It was likely that something horrible had happened to him; Cottongrass wasn’t the type to just go missing. He had been dependent on the Edge pack.

A dark figure in the distance caught his attention; his nose wrinkled as his pace slowed, his ears twitching with uncertainty. But he did not greet the loner—not yet. She appeared harmless; most loners were. But not this time of the year. Not after a long, cold winter…

He hesitated, unsure of whether he should approach the figure in the distance. His two dads didn’t raise a fool; he wasn’t about to throw himself at a potential threat without learning a little more about the shadow. However, the loner—the girl—beat him to it. Her voice rang through the air between them, non-threatening and level. Muddy blue-black. Not a bad colour combination, but not a good one either. I’m not lookin’ for trouble either, he countered, his words holding a sprinkle of amusement as the words tumbled off his tongue with ease. It was the truth—the last thing the boy wanted to do was get into trouble with the stranger or his leaders. He was a good boy. Responsible. Not like his spunky, speckled partner in crime. You lost? He asked as he too a tentative step toward her, his head twisting from side to side as he tried to get a better look at her.