Noon, Scattered Clouds, 52F/11C
The father had become dedicated full time to bringing Kalysta home safe. He had spent a lot of time looking for Atlas of course, but this had a more desperate tone to it knowing how quickly things could go wrong for a child her age, especially given her blindness. He was barely sleeping, his subconscious plagued with nightmares of the night he had found out that Sephrina had died. The sight of her body being delivered by the Cove wolves and the burial that followed.
He wouldn’t let it happen again. He would move heaven and earth before he had to bury any more of his children. So here he was, retracing steps it felt like he had already crossed a hundred times in the last three weeks, frantic for any sign of her. A ghost of a scent, a paw print, a few stray salt and pepper hairs that might show that she had been here at any point. Every day he picked a new direction and walked until his paw pads had become cracked and raw, yellow eyes sweeping back and forth systematically, nose to the ground and then the air and then repeat.
He would find her. The air during the day was still nice enough, but the nights were beginning to dip close to freezing point, and once this week he had returned to the territory to find a light frost clinging to the grass. This was not the time for a child to be out alone.