On the way to the Infirmary, he ran into
Anatole. Alone, the Valle assumed he was on his way to gather his sister or find shelter from the storm.
"'ey!" he woofed to the passing yearling, skidding to a stop in hopes of catching the other's attention.
"The storm's gettin' worse!" In case Anatole didn't understand, he yelled a little louder. Gusts of wind and flurries pelted down and sideways on both wolves. The closeness and scattered growth of the Backwater trees were not enough to ward off the storm.
"Den or shelter! Go!" He could only hope Anatole chose to go to the pack den to add to the collective body of warmth that was the pack. Knowing Anatole and
Brielle, or, well, lack of, he had a feeling he would go to his sister and hunker down until then. Regardless of Anatole's choice, he gave the youth a nod before continuing on his way. There was no time to dawdle.
His forepaws were packed with snow by the time the Infirmary came into view. Oleander had to use his teeth to pick the ice out from between them. He ducked into Clover's den and looked from one dark corner to the other before shaking his head. A hiss sounded from his clenched jaw, frustrated. Emerging from the den, he sprinted past it and dove into his dugout. Empress leaves flew out behind him and were lost to the wind and the forest beyond.
Where was it? Hot tears stung his eyes and he had to blink them away, paws desperately digging around from the entrance to the back wall.
Where was it?! He knew he had been saving it for a very good reason and this was it: to help his mother when she really needed it.
More leaves were dug up and out, scattered all over the clearing. Then, he felt something familiar beneath him. Pale purple buds materialized with a swipe of his paw - the remainder of his store of last summer's lavender. Brows touched as he gathered the thin sprigs between his teeth. He could only hope it was enough.
Oleander was about to turn around when he stomped his forepaw into the snow. Maybe what he had was too much. He dropped a few clusters back into his den and kicked a few leaves back over it. He'd stash it away later. Right now Clover and the pack needed him, and he knew he had enough hyssop to go around to those who needed it.
He galloped across the territory, eyes narrowed as he raced through the gales. Twice he stumbled on a root hidden by the frost, but nothing - not even the storm - could keep him from his family. He was breathless by the time his snow-graced head entered the pack den. Eyes drifting from one pelt pattern to the next, Oleander let a small whine announce his arrival. He stretched his neck out as he ducked halfway into the den, eager for needful mouths to pluck the does they needed. In the meantime, he focused on slowing his breathing and catching his breath.
The Valle had done something good. He needed only to realize it. Oleander
was capable of good intentions; remembering it, however, was the other half of the battle.
(This post was last modified: Jan 17, 2024, 11:30 PM by Oleander.)
OLEANDER | |
Nobody gets me like you do I'm not the same, not after you |