He shivered, the only indication of his discomfort. Wordlessly she pressed into him, bringing him closer, trying to envelope his whiteness with her browns. Slowly, the shivers ceased, but it had been replaced by a tension that she could not explain. She half wondered if he would have preferred her not to notice his cold, but pride was never an attribute she had attributed to her smallest. The others, his father, yes - but he was better than that, above that. Duck had taken after her, not after him. He did not have to feel wounded by accepting help, accepting that he needed. It was okay to need. Not everyone could be as independent and confident as Wolesh. It was a shame that the others had learnt his lesson rather than her own.

Though she missed their presence, missed knowing that they were eating and sleeping and not walking too hard, Bella felt strangely at ease with knowing that her Crow, Snake and Fox were out there by themselves. Their father's teachings had not all been to her distaste, and she could be grateful for that. She did not doubt that she would find them at the lake before her, likely boasting over how quick the trip was. Resourceful, capable, strong - these were some of her mate's words for Calor. These, at least, were the words she could agree with, the words which would carry her children to the lake safely.

Gentle, kind, thoughtful. These were the words Bella hoped to introduce to Calor, to turn the hard name into something strong but beautiful.

Giving her son a lick from the tip of his nose to his forehead, she knew that he now carried at least half of those, her half - and as he outgrew the weakness of his youth, he would come into the other words, too. His siblings would see that their teasing was misplaced, that their father had been wrong. Duckweed had been strong enough to survive those early weeks, and nothing else would be nearly so hard on either of them. She wondered if he really, truly realised just how scary that time had been, how heartbreaking it had been to love so viciously when her mate had cared so little. She had believed that she could love enough for the both of them. Watching his expressionless gaze as she continued to groom him, a quiet, suppressed part of her questioned that.

The winds blew hard that night, and occasionally she was woken by peals of thunder, though their hidden spot in the undergrowths of the forest sheltered the pair from almost everything but the sound. Each time she would check to see if Duck had been similarly roused, and each time he was quiet and still, and in the dark it was impossible to detect any deception. Each time she would kiss his cheek and lay her head over his shoulders before closing her eyes. Each time she felt his heart beating steadily in his chest. By the time the weather broke, and daylight pierced the canopy and over her eyelids, she once more woke with a start - and, on autopilot, found that she had no son to check on.

The pressed grass where he lay was cool when she placed her paw on it, her side cold from his absence. Heart skipping a beat, she jumped up, startled awake quicker than any storm could hope to cause. "Duck?" she called, not wanting to panic too soon, her rational side trying to argue that he was a year grown now, he was not a dying infant - but it was a losing battle. "Duckweed?!"

"Duckweed!"

Though her alarm did not subside, Bella took a firm hold of herself after the outburst, reminding herself that panic fixed nothing. He could not have gone far, would not have - he was more sensible than that. If she just calmed down, she should be able to find his trail and follow after him, though the boy had probably just gone to find something to drink and would return soon. Yes. Yes, that was it.

The adrenaline in her blood wasn't entirely convinced.

Her cries had been intended to draw attention, but from a very specific audience. When a shape moved in the corner of her vision, she turned with a start, but immediately she knew it was wrong - the colour, the size, the way it moved. Her concern for Duckweed was added to by a concern that now she had bothered anyone nearby with her foolish panic. Now, in a perverse way, she hoped that her son wasn't in the immediate area; he had enough trouble with social interaction as it was, and Bella tried to be a consistent role model for him in that regard. Seeing her blather in front of a stranger wouldn't help. Taking a breath, and composing herself, she watched the dark man, ears pricking at his polite concern.

"It's just my son," she said, straining to keep the desperation out of her voice. It was silly, silly. "He was sleeping beside me, but he's... wandered off. Have you seen him? He's white, just a slight young boy..."

Once more Bella found herself in the role of upset mother in front of someone cooler and calmer, but others' perception of her had never been a priority. The man could think she was a stark raving lunatic so long as she found Duck again, she didn't care. The dark man's patience and receptive manner was definitely appreciated, though. That made it easier for her to stay away from true panic, which wasn't yet warranted.

The answer to her question was no, but it was immediately followed by an offer of help, so in all the encounter was a net gain. "Thank you," she said, the relief and gratitude in her smile. He didn't need to, but she appreciated it deeply, for the man likely knew these woods far better than she and would be invaluable in locating Duck. "Bella Calor," she answered, smiling again, but this time at his incredible politeness. Such a charming man he was - she could have drawn in far less savory characters with how she was yelling. Once more the Lore was looking after her.

"One year old." Too old for most wolves to still have an overbearing parent, maybe, but there were mitigating circumstances; not only was Duck more fragile than most, they also lacked the support system of a pack, and Bella would be damned before she let her son vanish or wither on her watch. This kept Duck alive, and that was all that mattered. "Are you local? Do you know if there are any pools or streams nearby? He always likes to have a drink right after getting up. He has a good nose for finding water."

The fleeting expression on Nicolò's face when he learned of Duckweed's age was not missed. It was the right time of year, she knew, that he probably suspected her son to still be suckling. Did he think her foolish for chasing after what was, by age alone, almost a fully grown wolf? If only he knew of her duckling's frailties, then maybe the fact that he was a year grown - but barely in the body of a ten month old, if that - then he might understand. For now, she would just have to be the overbearing mother in Nicolò's eyes, and so be it. Whether or not he thought ill of her, the man was generous enough to only reveal his polite side and keep any judgements to himself.

Though revealed to indeed be a local, unfortunately it turned out he had not long been so. Smiling through the pang of frustration - unlucky, but it was hardly his fault - she stopped to focus her attention on him, hoping that spending a moment not panicking would help them be productive. His belonging to a pack, though not one she was familiar with (though hadn't wolves always lived in the willows here? Was it them he referred to?) made her feel slightly more at ease, for if he was so benevolent then she hoped his kin to be so. Besides that, she felt that pack wolves were inherently more trustworthy, if that judgement reflected poorly on her lone self. 

"Yes," she said, eager to grab at any straw he could offer. "A marsh could be right. Can you lead me there?"