The move to Whitestone was supposed to be temporary. A quick escape from the crumbling empire. It was the exit he had been waiting for after months of procrastination and waiting for the right moment. An amused expression stumbled onto his typically stoic exterior as he thought of how concerned Hecate had been once she discovered his plans on leaving. Clearly she hadn’t been too distraught, as she had found comfort in Skoll and gotten exactly what she had wanted out of the older Archer. Greer was thankful that his infatuation with the older female had been nothing more than just that—an infatuation. As far as he was concerned, the ghoulish wench was dead to him.
As his time on the monadnock lengthened Greer found himself growing more .. comfortable. Greer despised the feeling but could not muster up the courage to leave. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to leave anymore. His long legs were still able to stretch as he pursued the role of scout, which kept his wanderlust at bay. The shadow had found purpose here—something that the willows had never offered him.
The soft glow of the morning sun kissed the horizon, threatening to spill into the dark sky as the shadow streaked across the tundra. Greer debating going south, or poking around the Hearthwood borders, as he watched the clouds change from black to a soft, dove gray. He thoughts wandered to his little flame—what was she doing in the early glow of the morning? Had she managed to sleep through the night, or had sleep evaded her as well? His lips tightened, a frown forming. Thinking about her made Greer miss her—perhaps more than he should. His pace quickened, his tail swishing sharply behind him as he dismissed his thoughts and focused his mercury gaze on the trees in the distance.