used to be your shoulder, now i don't know ya
It had been over four months since he had last been this far North, and over a year since Lorcan had last ventured to these particular springs. This last time he had been here he'd been a dutiful healer of Whitestone Monadnock, desperately seeking medical supplies for @Odin. This time was not much different. A year later he was back, to the same spot he had visited before, in search of sweetgrass for @Daesamar. However, this time, the pack that had greeted him at their borders before ceased to exist.
Pale brows furrowed in a mixture of worry and disappointment. There was no longer any sign of White Fir Notch, nor any lingering scent of his old friend and teacher @Emrys in the trees which gathered around him. The leader couldn't help but wonder what might have happened to them. When he had last been in the North, in Hearthwood, he had not heard any whispers of trouble with any of their neighbouring packs — except at Whitestone of course. Maybe, in all the choas, the wolves of the Notch had slipped away and disbanded without notice.
Lorcan swallowed hard, trying to push down the guilt he felt clenching at his gut in that moment, before pressing his nose to ground. Maybe, if he searched hard enough, he'd get lucky and stumble across their abandoned medicinal cache and be able to scavenge whatever was left. If not, he'd just have to focus his search for the sweetgrass beside the water. Either way, he was determined to return to the tarn with something of use.