Winter was coming.
The air was growing colder; crisper. Frost clung to the grass in the morning, and his breath came out in clouds as he left the warmth of his den. The arrival of winter brought back painful memories, ones that the healer tried compulsively to supress. It had almost been a year since Anastasia’s disappearance, and it seemed as though the wound would never close. There was not a day that went by that the long-legged leader did not miss his blue-eyed china doll. He refused to believe that something… undesirable had happened to her. As far as he was concerned, she had managed to find her way off the mountain and was living with some pack outside of Relic Lore. That was the only answer he would accept.
He had left the comfort of his den (and Bastet) in the early hours of the morning, well before the sun rose past the horizon. The cool air clung to his fur, chilling him down to the bone as he maneuvered through the territory. Lachesis had left initially to do a quick sweep of the border, but had decided to travel a little further to a former haunt; one that he and Anastasia had made home for several weeks. His ghostly figure moved effortlessly through the trees; he did not want to be gone for too long. Collect a few herbs, sniff around for some loners, and then return back to the river. Although his inventory was well-stocked, perhaps even overstocked, he wanted to be prepared for the winter. Some of his supplies had dwindled after taking care of Maksim, so XIX knew he needed to replenish what was missing.
The familiar territory brought back even more supressed memories, but these weren’t ones he wanted to avoid. They were ones that he embraced. Memories of his first few months within Relic Lore, where Anastasia was teaching him what skills he would need after being accepted into a pack. She had taught him how to be properly submissive, and how to not be so afraid of others. It was where they had discussed their plans for joining a pack, and where to explore next in the Lore. A smile fell onto his dark lips as he thought about the conversations shared between the two… would there ever be any more?
Ice flanked the edge of the creek, crunching beneath his toes as he walked parallel to it. The sun had begun to creep between the tree branches, breaking through in streaks as it illuminated the frost-covered ground. As miserable as winter was, XIX could not deny that the ice and snow carried some beauty to it. Born an Arctic wolf the cold came second nature to it; his pelt had already begun to thicken considerably as the winter months drew closer. Of course the healer preferred the warmth of the summer sun, but he was built for the snow.
His movements were erratic as he paced the edge of the creek, his nose hovering inches above the ground as he searched for any herbs to bring back to his den. XIX planned to return to the river just after the sun reached its peak – he wanted to be back before night fell onto the lands once more. Bastet had still been asleep when he had slunk out of the den; the last thing he wanted was to worry the raven-coloured female.
stick with those who stick with you