i think you would beat the moon in a pretty contest
and the moon just happened to be the very first thing that I missed
i was doing fine on my own and there wasn't much i lacked
but you've stolen my air catcher, and i don't know if i want it back
With the change of leadership in Whitestone the river wolves acquired a new member. While he was pleased to see the tawny healer in Kingsfall it also made XIX worry. He did not know what Lorcán’s motives were—why, out of all the packs in the Lore, he had sought out Hearthwood to join after leaving the monadnock. Healers were always welcome, along with hunters, and with the pack expecting three litters the extra paws and teeth were needed. The agouti was familiar with several of his packmates, so it made sense to Lachesis as to why he felt comfortable seeking out their borders.
He still couldn’t help but worry. XIX always worried.
Like most nights when he couldn’t sleep the ghost sought out the shores of the lake, taking comfort in the mirror-like surface of the water and the small pebbles between his toes. Aside from the bend in the river, the lake was where he felt most at home. The air was beginning to grow warmer as the seasons changed, despite winter’s relentless grip on the land. One more month and puppies would begin to arrive, fuelling the Lore with fresh blood. A wave of heirs and one night stands; wolves succumbed by the hormones the came with the first wave of spring. His ears twitched at the thought. Was that what had happened to him, too? This—fatherhood—had not worked out so well for Lachesis the first time around. His son had disappeared, trying to chase the fables that his milk-mother and the dragon had fed him, and his daughter had gone to bring him back. Weeks had passed, along with dozens of sleepless nights, and the twins had not yet returned to Hearthwood. XIX was beginning to fear they would never return. Perhaps it was him that had chased them away.
His lips tightened as he meandered down the north shore of the lake, his paws dragging behind him as the sun began to creep over the horizon line. He had slunk away moments before dawn erupted, chasing the remaining moonlight in a desperate attempt to sooth his mind. Lachesis fretted constantly over the three mother-to-be’s.
Would Hearthwood be able to support three litters?
Would they all survive?
Would the mothers survive?
His heart dropped at the thought. The ghost did not know if he could handle anymore loss. The river wolves had already gone through so much; there was only so much tragedy they cope with.
A sigh shook his chest as his pace slowed, peridot’s falling away from the stars that lingered in the sky. The thoughts still remained. No matter how hard he tried to outrun them, they still followed, biting at his heels… consuming him, devouring him.
stick with those who stick with you