Spectral Woods with your soul trapped between the tides

Noon, Sunny—22 ° F, -6 ° C, West of OTB borders, tentatively marked as "join"...

you do not know who is your friend

and who is your enemy

(With nothing but ghosts in his footsteps—)

—memories in the blue shadows he left in the thin carpet of snow, hushed whispers of another life in the breeze rippling through his thick fur. And in the freezing fog curled around his body, he didn't know which was haunted; the forest, or he?

He had never witnessed the forest in the full splendor of winter; he had left when the leaves turned crisp and orange, taken off on a fruitless hunt and left the woods in autumnal flames. (And when he had, so briefly, returned? He'd never made it down, didn't remember much, anyway, just the sky tilting and the sun falling to its grave.) Long years separated the present from his memories, but still, it was familiar in a way that made the air freeze in his lungs. He knew these paths, these frozen brooks, the scents—but not the way the sun slanted through bare trees and glittered upon the snow's cold crust. Winter had changed it, and somehow, he found it fitting that they met again as almost-strangers, just barely remembering the name and face of the other.

No birds sang in the charged, chilly air. The only sound was that of paw pads striking snow, the hush of his white-smoke breath, and within, the thunder of his heartbeat. He was getting closer again, to that point, the epicenter of his pain—the darkest, most bruised part of his heart. Time and again he had skirted the borders, sniffed the markers, bolted like a ghost at the slightest hint of activity. He had always approached downwind, heart trembling like a leaf in a storm, legs and lungs weak with nameless terror.

The guilt devoured him raw.

And now, he stood there again, just beginning to catch the waft of the border markers. His heart somehow doubled its pace. He felt sick with it, floating in a sea of adrenaline with nothing to tie him down, nauseous with anxious worry; he'd found the pack, but in what state?

He knew Corinna's scent better than he knew himself. He had lived under her protection and guidance for years, had served Indru, then her, had always been second to her even when they stood shoulder-to-shoulder—every time he had jogged along the boundary between Corinna's realm and the rest of the world, it had been with the comforting, reassuring scent of her presence in his nose. And now? Now it was just gone, like she had never been here at all.

He paused in his relentless worrying, stopped shimmying on the spot like a thoroughbred both anxious and excited for the race, but his heart thundered on even as his body stilled. Silver eyes flicked from tree to tree and the thin tendrils of mist between. It was time. It was time to face the sum of his actions, to show that he was not Indru, to—he didn't even know what he wanted, except for them to know that he had come back.

White breath smoked into the chilly noon air, carrying with it a tentative song of summons for the ghosts of his past.

until the ice breaks.

AHHHHHHHHH!!!! @Triell maybe you'd like to join in on this too?

The air was cold and chilly, and the snow was crisp underfoot. For months it felt like Serach had agonized over the approach of winter, but it had still snuck up on them despite his preparation. Standing near the pack's den, surveying the shallow meadow where they gathered together, he felt an easy weight on his shoulders. Regardless of his preparation and the sudden surprise to find winter well and truly here, he was not worried. The pack was strong - he had a loyal friend in @Aponi and the yearlings that had posed such a danger to them earlier in the year were maturing quickly.

And that was nothing to say of the personal lift that Serach had gotten from @Lena. Knowledge that his brother was alive and well had changed everything for Serach, at least in his heart and mind. There was a sense of closure now, similar to how he had felt when @Kisla had returned to the Bend after meeting Maksim, or when @Fenru had rejoined the Bend for a few brief weeks the previous year. His heart still ached for the loss of the brother he used to have, but there was happiness that somewhere out there, his sibling had made a family for himself. After the initial shock had worn off, Serach had realized it was probably for the better. If his competition over leadership with @Darrah was any indication, a competition with his own sibling would have been far more agonizing.

Ears perking atop his head, Serach was roused from his thoughts by a stranger's howl. Turning his head to face west, he listened until the sound quieted before setting off. Leaving a clear set of tracks in the snow, he loped through the woods towards the borders. It had been a while since a lone wolf had sought them out, but he was encouraged by the deep tone of voice. It was distinctly older than the young voices that usually sought them out, and for that alone Serach was more interested. A full pack with a more even balance between maturity and youth would suit them all well.

Following the direction of where the call had originated from, Serach was quick to detect the change in scent that signified the stranger's presence as he came closer to the borders. The invisible line established by years of rounds had not been crossed, but the smell wafted over them, drawing Serach to it like a moth to a flame. Slowing his pace as he approached, his pale yellow eyes scanned the surrounding woods carefully, eventually landing on the large figure of a wolf to his right. Adjusting his path, Serach approached taking care to not make his approach a secret - this was his land after all. "'Lo there," he called, lifting his head and his tail in a display of dominance despite the fact that the stranger before him was quite a bit larger. "I'm Serach, leader of Oak Tree Bend. What did you need, stranger?"

Memories circle like birds of prey
Waiting for the right mind to drive insane
Don't look back there's nothing to see
Regret is nothing more than a reoccurring disease
♫ Anberlin - Birds of Prey

you do not know who is your friend

and who is your enemy

Silence.

The forest was no different from the way it had been before his call sundered the quietude. It was just the snow and the fog and the trees and a wolf with a heart trying to run out of its chest, struggling at the end of the line but unable to break away. The back of his mouth tasted awful, like bile, and his jaws rattled together as a shiver passed through him—he didn't know if he had ever been brave, he had always just done what needed to be done but when the pain of Marsh's passing had come bearing down on him, he had buckled under the blow. And now—he wanted to run from the agonizing wait, from the tremors running through his flesh. His adrenaline was spent on useless worrying, and even his tongue felt weak in his mouth, as if it wouldn't be able to shape coherent words at all.

He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep blaming Indru for not returning. It was easier to just keep on running. To forget.

But some things just didn't stay dead and buried, no matter how hard you put them down.

Ice didn't know how long it took, how long he stood there with his wide eyes and a frown etched on his face, paws shuffling through the snow as the forces within waged their war. He didn't even know what he was thinking anymore, or if he thought at all. Everything had just become a sickening blur of emotion and disjointed visual impressions. And—

The large-pawed wolf came like a ghost out of the surrounding mist. Ice's gaze snapped to him, a momentarily fervent glance, his face betraying a panic he had almost grown too numb to feel anymore. "'Lo there," the wolf called, confident and at ease, proud in his bearing as his tail raised above his back, but Ice was too lost in the patterns of his fur to notice. It suddenly seemed so important to remember every exact detail of his children's appearance, the color of their eyes, but he couldn't find the memories and neither could he register the color of the eyes of this wolf, and the sky had begun to spin sickeningly beyond the trees and he heard the wolf speak again as if from afar, through snow, blocked—

"I'm Serach, leader of Oak Tree Bend."
"I like Ser....Serach. Serach Aesir."

And somehow, he must've heard what Serach Aesir, leader of Oak Tree Bend, had asked him, because before he knew what he was doing his voice was falling from his numb mouth in disjointed rhythm, "You. Wait. Forgiveness. I—shit, I'm sorry," but he would not beg even as he apologized for not making sense.

His mouth was running but he barely knew what he said; past and future collided in a way that left him floored, but even as he stood there, he did not cower. He did not fold in on himself. Dimly, he was aware of his tail hanging limp between his hind legs, and of his gaze absently studying the scruffy fur on Serach's chest (—he's my son, he thought, numbly, dumbly), but—dammit, why couldn't he make up his mind? There was icy steel and pride in his spine (I came back, I did it, I came back—) but some small, rational part of his mind was yelling get down, get down, show him you're sorry you left and yet nothing happened. He just stood there, a neutral ghost of ice in a frozen forest.

"—I'm Ice," says the ghost, his name lost in the smoke of his breath as it rises towards a distant sky; his heart finally hits the floor in utter silence, the cards thrown like haphazard blood stains in the snow for all to see. He's there, he's done it, there is no more.

In the seconds just after he's said it, all he feels is emptiness.

until the ice breaks.

(This post was last modified: Nov 12, 2016, 05:06 PM by Ice.)

let the stars above shine in your soul

Serach had approached the stranger with an easy confidence that had been growing increasingly more natural to him since his ascension to leadership. That ease gave way to tension as the other wolf opened his mouth. There was no greeting, only a random series of words that without context made no sense. Fur rising along the ridge of his back, Serach's smile faded away to a grim line that was poised and ready to pull back into a snarl if the lone wolf made any other sudden moves. He was at a distinct size disadvantage in this fight, but Serach was an adult in the prime of his life and he was healthy in comparison to any lone wolf. He was also not alone; should trouble arise, the Bend would have his back.

But the tension stayed in the air, neither wolf moving. Father stood still, an internal battle for only him to see raging behind his gray eyes, while his son stood on and watched, ready to react to defend his home and family if need be. You. Forgiveness. The fuck does that even mean? Serach raged to himself as he stared the stranger down, debating as to whether he should end this now and drive the old man off. But as the decision was reached, the younger Aesir was silenced by two words that would change his life forever for the second time in recent days. Eyes shifting to look beyond Ice's shoulder, Serach half expected to see his mother emerge from the wood as well. First Sceral, and now this. It was a lot to take in.

"Ice," he repeated, his tongue struggling to say the short word. The dots were starting to connect in his mind as he looked at Ice with renewed scrutiny. "Ice Aesir?" The age was right, by Serach's estimation. In his mind, he replayed the only real memory he had of his father - a giant wolf of gray and white looming over him and Sceral before launching himself at a black wolf that Serach knew now to be Triell. That was it, really. The founder of the Bend had not remained at home long after that, searching for something Serach's mother had never truly been able to articulate to him when he had asked. But that was all Serach could remember, and the mix of emotions that churned in his heart now were reflective of that loss. He had never known the man enough to miss him, but he had grown up missing the idea of him. With his own maturation, the idea had faded, but now he was confronted with the man and he had no idea what to do.

"It's been a long time," is what Serach finally settled on. "Three years, I think."

you do not know who is your friend

and who is your enemy

Nothing ever works out as you expect it to.

All carefully laid plans, all agonized dreams of the future, every script rehearsed for a conversation that he knew would never turn out that way anyway—gone to dust, less tangible than shadows as their moments passed. He had seen this meeting a thousand times, never quite knowing what the wolf he stood face-to-face with truly looked like, but in none of his guilt-ridden imaginations had it gone like this. Not only was he absurdly aware of the fact that Serach could've been called Thicket instead of Serach, but it was just—the moment the two words, neither of which was an obvious name, left his mouth, they both seemed to deflate somehow. The tension, which had lain together with his own anxiety like a choking carpet at the back of his mouth, dissipated.

And he was left nothing but hollow and numb as his son took in his appearance again; pale and towering and thick but somehow gaunt in the way of old wolves. Ice blinked, slowly, hearing his name spoken in an unfamiliar voice—

Yellow, he thought, even as he said "Yes," in a brittle whisper. His eyes are yellow. Green yellow.

Something grew in the hollows just below his heart, just another injury left undiscovered, untended; it turned, as if waking from sleep, blinked its eyes in the murky light and began to bloom. Every clap of his heart was accompanied by its dull bite as it dug its fangs in, until he found himself blinking rapidly in the face of everything he had lost: —too much to put into words.

The breath hitched in his throat, but still he didn't move, almost as if his body had forgotten how to live while still remembering how to breathe. All the things—all the things he had promised himself and Corinna, to be there, to guard her, to hunt with her, to raise their sons, to be a fixture in the pack and not leave, to not put her through what Indru had put her through, until the day he simply hadn't come back again—and now he stood before his adult son, a wolf he did not know, a wolf he'd seen only as a child mere months old, someone he should've watched grow. Watched over. Taught things. Loved.

His throat was closing in on itself as his heart began its panicked stampede again, urged on by the shadow of sorrow—a loss so profound he could barely comprehend it, only feel himself teetering on the precipice of it, the roar of the void so close he barely heard Serach say "It's been a long time," and the confused, fragmented pieces of his heart splintered further—

It would've been easier, had Serach attacked him. Had some emotion overcome him, overwhelmed him, brought him to lay Ice low and snarl in his face and demand to know how he could've left—why he did, where he had been, something tangible, something he could defend himself from, not just—not just this thing which was far too close to mundane pleasantries for Ice to handle.

"Yes," he somehow managed to force past his lips again, nervously licking his teeth as he stared from Serach to a tree and back again—seeing only that ghost there, the one that lurked just outside the edges of his control. The one that was all the promises he had broken. All the opportunities he had missed. All the things he should've done, experienced, all the joy and worry he should've shared with Cori and the pack.. all these things, staring him in the face, in the shape of a vaguely disproportionate wolf with eyes a mix of silver and green.

His mind seized onto that, green eyes, something he could hold in the roaring vortex which his mind had become. In the same fragile, distant voice he spoke, a question so much more important than the others: "Where's Cori?"

Because she was the one he had let down the most.

until the ice breaks.

let the stars above shine in your soul

The truth of the matter was that this conversation was one Serach had never though the would have. He had no idea how to react, and so he had decided to speak calmly, almost as though the pale furred beast in front of him was just a ghost that would fade away on the wind or would disappear when Serach woke up from a dream. But this was very real - the man would not have been able to dream of the very real onslaught of feelings he was experiencing right now. He wanted to cry, he wanted to run, and he wanted to fight the man in front of him. But he could not bring himself to do it because turning away those who he had loved and lost was not in Serach's nature.

His whole life had been defined by the familiar pattern of loss. First Ice, just a pale shadow in Serach's memory. Kisla had followed soon after, and then the freezing winter that had taken his mother. Spring had taken Fenru, and summer dealt a double blow by taking both Ruiko and Sceral. Each time had cut the boy's heart, but time had slowly healed each cut into a scar that somewhere along the line Serach had learned to confront head on. He had learned that he could not be sad and silent in the woods forever and despite the pain he was feeling now, having had the first and earliest of scars reopened on a chance, he knew that he would recover.

Would he? Serach wondered as the brittle question came - the one that hung over them both as their connecting thread. He has to know, Serach thought. His mother had led the pack until her dying breath, and no doubt if she had survived the winter would still be at its helm today. But her scent had long since departed from any part of the pack's territory, covered with the scents of newcomers and a new generation of Tainns. With Sceral gone, Serach was all that remained of her direct bloodline. There was no point in letting Ice try and figure it out, however, and with a lurch of his heart and a definitive pang of sadness in his voice, Serach told his father the truth.

"She died the same year you left. Sceral and I were six months when it happened. It was a harsh winter, almost all of the prey had left the forest and it was colder than I ever remember it being. We were all with her when she went; Sceral, Triell, Ruiko and I. It hurt more than anything I could possibly imagine, but she had done enough so the rest of us could make it through the winter." That was the true cruelty of it, and looking down at his paws, his shoulders and tail dropping, Serach lamented not for the first time what a fickle mistress Mother Nature could be. There had been no hunting accident, or a violent fight with a predator or foe. It had just been the cold and the fatigue from a particularly harsh winter; no doubt several others in Relic Lore had suffered similar fates. But they had not been his mother, and they had not had to carry his particular brand of pain for the rest of their lives.

"Triell is still here. He will want to see you....he missed you." He said, his voice quiet wondering just how his uncle would react to seeing Ice. "I did too." He wasn't sure if he missed the man or the idea, but in that vulnerable moment where his sorrow was clearly visible in the drooping of his body and the sound of his voice, he knew it was important to say.

you do not know who is your friend

and who is your enemy

In his heart, he knew the answer.
In his darkest, most desperate of dreams, he had known the truth for a long, long time.

He was too late.

But they say hope is that which dies last. Lost in a whiteout with no connections, he had afforded the most painful of luxuries—hope. On some days and nights, when the pain searing his soul had been too great to bear, he had dreamed of Corinna's harsh greeting, her accusations and her bitter hurt, but ultimately, her forgiveness. That she would've heard him out, known him to speak truth, and believed him.

The other thing was a scenario his mind had often touched, but he had never dared explored. A complete, utter darkness, where his only remaining compass point was torn out and he was left adrift, bereaved of the only thing that had come to matter. And, he thought, maybe that was why he had stalled at the borders all these days—what he had known from the moment he had arrived, he hadn't wanted it confirmed. He hadn't wanted somebody to stand before him and speak the words he heard in the silence following his question, the truth he read in the subtle shift of his son's eyes.

The only thing he could do was to keep breathing, and listen—a story like nails hammered into a coffin, an ending he was not ready for.

The winter he had left. The winter after the summer in which he had roamed the forest a desolate ghost. His heart lurched sickeningly in his chest, haunches sinking—quivering—to the snowy floor. He had left. He had left, goddammit, sick with his own grief, unable to focus on anything, taking his troubles with him and hoping to return with a little piece of something they had lost but finding nothing—just losing more—his red travelling companion, a name lost to the hard rocks of the Hills as he fell—

He had left, and Corinna had died. He had left, and—and—and—

His eyes glazed over but his heart kept beating stubbornly. He didn't even know what to think, much less what to say, because the truth of it was that it was too vast to somehow fit in his mouth, no matter how many pieces he broke it down into. He couldn't help but feel like it was his fault, that if he had just stayed, she would still be alive, things would've been different (of course they would've), and he wouldn't be sitting here staring at his kid's paws and feeling the dull thuds in his chest like gunshots in numb flesh. It was easy to blame himself; easier than facing the fact that she would never know he had come back.

"Triell is still here. He will want to see you....he missed you." Would Triell forgive him? Would he blame him for Corinna's death? Would he say that he was no better than Indru, turn his back on him? He didn't—he wasn't sure if he could take it, no matter how much he deserved it, because he hadn't been strong enough. And a small, treacherous part of him whispered that it was all pointless anyway, because Corinna was dead, so what mattered anymore? It was breaking his word to her that had cut the deepest, bled the most, and it was no comfort at all to know that she had probably been dead already when he tried to return. "I did too," Serach went on, and for a moment, Ice didn't even register what he had said—too busy being dragged down into the darkness by all these wrongs he could never right.

But then one of his ears flicked, and his dropped head rose slightly, to briefly seek the eyes of his son. He and his brother (—speaking of, where was he?) had lost their father young, lost their mother to a cruel winter, and now—he was here—he was just sitting here on his furry arse and—letting another moment go by because he was too busy drowning in a sea of shame and apathy.

There was no spark in him; no desire to get onto his feet and stop moping. It was like falling down the mountain again, numb from bruises and aching, lost, confused, but having caught sight of one star through the clouds. It was just a tiny, tiny flicker, causing him to stand up again, shuffle forward, silver eyes sad because what else could they be? He didn't have words to even begin describing what he felt, so he didn't even try. Just stepped toward his son, forgetting for a moment that he was a loner approaching a pack leader—an adult who did not need coddling. His tail swayed once, low, then he hesitated; he had not been a father to these cubs. He—he had no claims on them, not really, and so, he dared not touch Serach. Merely held his head next to his, as if he had simply frozen in the moment before rubbing his head in his scruff, locked in place and asking silently for permission, so aware of everything he had done wrong and how much of it he couldn't fix.

"I missed you too," he whispered, hoarsely, still just hovering next to the other wolf, the ache in his soul flaring stronger and stronger until all he wanted was to bury his face in Serach's neck—in one, small forgiveness, the single light in the black storm.

until the ice breaks.

let the stars above shine in your soul

All of the feels!!!

Serach knew next to nothing about the man in front of him. He knew of him, of course, how he had stepped up to lead beside his mother when her first mate had abandoned them. How he had led the charge against the savage pack of wolves that had taken his half-sister's life. But that was different than knowing the man himself, and as the words left his mouth, Serach braced himself for an impact of...well he wasn't sure what. He did not know Ice, and he did not know how his father grieved or even what form that grieving would take. Deep down, a part of him wanted to know that it hurt. Not because Serach blamed Ice - the loss of his father and his mother were two separate, unrelated events as far as he was concerned - but because he wanted to know if there was regret behind those pale gray eyes and he wanted somebody else to feel and understand the pain that Serach carried with him even to this day.

Had he known Ice the man, he would have known it was never in question that the news would hurt.

There were no words at first, but Serach could see the news weigh on the shoulders of the man. His gaze was downcast, but there was certainly no signs of relief in the way he held himself. If anything, the already sad figure grew sadder. They stood like that for what felt like a long moment, silently taking in the news and what it meant for them both. Not for the first time since Serach had arrived at the borders he wondered how his mother would have reacted, but it ultimately did not matter. She was gone, and he was here in her place to pass judgement on this long lost piece of their lives.

It was the crunch of snow that Serach recognized first, before his eyes saw the lifting of Ice's head and the movement of his paw. Step by step, the distance closed between them. He remained firmly rooted to his place, body frozen with tension as he waited to see what would happen. But Ice's lips did not pull back to reveal teeth, nor did his body lunge towards Serach to engage in any kind of offensive. He merely walked towards his son and then stopped, with just a breath's space between them. Any further and the Bend leader would have struggled to hear the words Ice finally uttered, I missed you, too.

With only a moment's hesitation, the boy decided to embrace the part of the emotional chaos that was celebrating the return of the father. It was not too late for them to start over. Leaning in, the side of Serach's muzzle touched Ice's, sending a shock down the boy's spine. Choosing to fully commit, his cheek brushed his father's and his eyes closed as he nudged his forehead against the larger man's scruff, taking comfort in feeling for, what was the first time in his adult life, the embrace of his father. Triell had been Serach's father figure while growing up, as had Ruiko and @Drestig, but this was an all together different sort of feeling that commanded Serach's actions. This was a young boy who had missed out and had always in some respects lived under the shadow of that missed opportunity. It would never be the same, he realized, but they would figure it out. He may not need a father now in the same way he had needed one as a child, but that did not mean he did not need one at all.

He lost track of how long they stood like that, but eventually Serach came up for air against the crushing waters of his emotional state. He pulled back his head, but his body remained close and ready to lean forward again if the pale ghost threatened to leave once more. "There's a lot we need to discuss. Things you need to know," he said in a quiet whisper, his mind already leaping ahead to the possibility of being able to truly learn about the man who had for so long been only a specter in his memory. "There's a lot I need to know too." That was one thing he would not budge on, no matter what. He wanted to understand what had happened and why it had taken so long for this embrace to happen. Maybe not today, or even the day after, but he would not allow that question to go unanswered.

you do not know who is your friend

and who is your enemy

His heart had become a butterfly, fragile wings beating fast, fast, fast in his chest—a powerless thing trapped in a storm so much stronger than it could combat. It pounded somewhere in the back of his throat, large and swollen, choking him.

He hated every moment of it.

He hated the brittle fear like ice coating his bones, the nausea-inducing anxiety. The numbing effect of finding his son in command of the pack, of hearing of Corinna's death, had worn off with his movement. What forgiveness, judgment, had been passed on Ice's disappearance had nothing to do with the axe hovering above his head now; it was a new question, of a different sort altogether, and as a wolf of stability and clearly seen things, Ice absolutely loathed uncertainty. To not know where he stood.

And he hadn't known that for a long, long time.

His breath trembled between his teeth.

Serach was far too kind to him. He knew the hurt of unexplained abandonment and loss, had witnessed first-hand how it had struck Corinna before, and now—he stood here, in the place where they had wanted to make a new future, shake off the ghosts of old, and knew that nothing had changed. The cycle had repeated, and the circle closed too late. He swallowed. Had he met himself, he wouldn't have been so forgiving. He didn't know what he would've done, but had Indru returned, Ice wouldn't have let him, wouldn't have taken him back, couldn't have trusted him to not leave again—

The touch was like an electric lash going down his body, a spark ricocheting from his nose and nearly short-circuiting his brain. In everything—in all his musings, all his dreams—he had never—and now he stood there. He had made it to Relic Lore, had found his way to the Spectral Woods, and of all the things he felt his son's face buried in his scruff. He had to be dreaming.

But Serach didn't disappear beneath his touch, not even as he angled his head to press the side of it against the shorter wolf's neck. He was there. He was solid. He was real, and Ice's eyes closed. Maybe some things were forever lost to the currents of time, but not all. Serach was still here. Triell was still here.

It was more than he had had yesterday.

He could've—had almost wanted to—stood there forever, losing his thoughts in the soft cream fur pressed against half his face. Things were somehow quieter there, but life had to go on. If today was trying to teach him anything, it was that, and as Serach began to pull back from the embrace Ice's tongue flicked out, trying to catch the base of his nearest ear in an affectionate lick. The air next to his head felt colder, but neither of them had barely moved, and Ice's tail gave a restless twitch. "There's a lot we need to discuss. Things you need to know," like what? he wanted to ask, but his lungs still felt weak, like there wasn't enough strength in them to form words. "There's a lot I need to know too." He nodded, silently. Turned his head, to glance behind, at the empty fog swirling between the trees.

No part of him wanted to run. There was nothing left to find in the rest of the world.

So he looked back, to the wolf who had become the leader of the pack Ice had founded, so many years ago. "Yes," he said, for what felt like the hundredth time that day. His voice was still soft, but less—brittle, as if the worst of it had passed. And for now, it had; it would return, time and again, expanding like a nothingness inside of him. He closed his eyes, basking in the warmth of Serach's presence. "I don't even know where to start."

until the ice breaks.

let the stars above shine in your soul

A young deer has been separated from the rest of its herd. Hunt Opportunity