March 4th; Late evening, almost nightfall; Clear Sky; -20.29° F, -29.05° C
Oleander had heard about Sage's hunts in passing. Mostly from Anatole, who had arrived home from a scouting trip a few nights ago. He thought nothing of it when the man sought out his company, only that it was very kind of the Gerau to keep him in the know.
So far, it seemed he had not been called in to practice as a Medic. No wounds or sprains or cuts or other maladies. Which was a good thing. Perhaps Sage was showing off her skills with flying colors. Or... somewhere in the Backwater, injured pack members were trying to cope on their own. Oleander hoped the latter was not a reality.
Those things aside, Clover and Viorel's son had more pressing things in mind. With the pack hedged under a total breeding ban, Oleander was grateful. He expected he would not be subjected to the need for grandchildren from his parents... and he would not need to be at anyone's beck and call for cub deliveries. There would be plenty of lavender and other herbs stored up for the rest of the year. And, lastly, the ban meant everything was at a standstill... meaning he had a chance to steady himself as an individual and think hard about Sage.
About what life would look like for them as a couple...if they could even be considered that. Or if they had been one at all, to begin with. He had not seen her in a while now.
He followed her recent scent back from the wilderness and into pack territory. Past the pack den, he prowled through the bits of green that had sprung up through the snow and mud. Now and then, he took a deep inhale, wondering how close she was and how long it was going to take him to find her.