Viorel had set up camp upon the singular hill within the field once the snow had started to fall. It was still light now, but he knew how quickly the weather could change this time of year and didn’t want to get caught up in it. It wouldn’t do the pack any good if he was out searching for missing pack members and ended up injured or turned around in some kind of blizzard.

Instead he laid casually beneath the tree that marked the top of the mound and watched the flakes whirl towards the earth, almost seeming to dance in the light breeze. It was quiet, it was peaceful, and it gave him a moment to truly be by himself and reflect on the year that he had had. There had been a lot of change, and a lot of loss, and yet the father and the pack had come out the other side and were still surviving. But, he was getting older, and he felt it in his bones, and with every cough, that he couldn’t guarantee how many more winters he had left.

That thought used to scare him, but now it felt almost comforting. Viorel didn’t know what happened to you after you died, but if there was some kind of afterlife he knew there would be a plethora of wolves waiting for him on the other side. Most of all, he could be reunited with Vanadis and the children they had lost.