The instant he had left his younger brother and loyal paladin behind he found himself feeling both better and worse. Better because he was no longer among a couple of heretical, liberal youngsters that needlessly questioned his identity and integrity. He shook them off without forgiving them, figuring that at some point their need to shake the ivory towers would just bring the white marble crumbling down on their heads. But as this frustration faded with them, it was quickly replaced with dread. Dread for his daughter, his darling daughter who must have fallen if his brother could be believed. She did not want to be called Piety. Was she not pious? She had been hurt. How?
There was nothing standing in his way anymore.
His paws gained speed as his nose plunged into the dead leaves covering the forest ground, rooting in the earth for traces of her scent. The trail lead away from the "new" den — really the oldest den Hocus had ever known, the first den— and out towards a place Hocus had long been forcing himself to stop associating with the image of Theo's limp body and Trisden's crying face. But it was hard to pretend these things had never happened, harder still because the years and the distance had opened the cracks in his defenses. Hardest because somewhere out here, his Piety was a broken, drifting soul. She awaited his love, the love of God. It was his duty to seek her and pour upon her the truth of the Lord.
"Piety?" he called, his voice strained. He came to a stop at the edge of the creek.