Freezing drizzle 31 ° F, -1 ° C
don't worry about me the heart is suppose to bleed
The changes were rough. There was always something to remind him what they had lost. Rather it be a past scent of where Elettra had stepped, or a simple thought of sharing information with her. He was reminded she was not there for him to seek out. Least not in the same way. The sadness would begin to rear again, and he would have to quell it.
Everyone in the Ridge had become recluses in their new grief. He did not draw from his routine. He believed by throwing himself in the pattern of habit he could stave off the grief, the anger, and sorrow. Each day he did about the same thing. Patrol the next round of borders he had not reached, and add his marks. Keep an eye out for possible signs of food. Remain aware of the whereabouts of his pack members in case they did not return home. The rogue was on edge, waiting for another tragedy to strike. Especially since they seemed to come in droves. Despite his resilience, he felt it was wavering. The walls he'd built up cracking. Sleepless nights adding up, and slowly chipping at his sanity. But, he didn't have time to fall apart. He began to wrack his brain for ideas to help ease the pain they all felt. Nothing seemed good enough. Nothing would make up for the loss.
Grinding his teeth, he gave a harsh flick of his tail. His path tearing away from the Ridge. His feet taking him as fast as they could. The sky overhead promised a storm, but he didn't care. He pushed himself to the point his eyes began to sting, and his breath was harsh. He needed to get away from the familiar. Needed to feel anything else. As promised the sky began to put down neither rain nor snow, but a harsh combination of both. The mixture began to soak his coat, and felt like small icicles on his snout, and ears pressed to his head. The cold forced him to seek shelter in the icy,snow clad enclosure the various limbs of a large willow tree provided.