Open for one or two. Late morning. 46F/8C.
Reyes had thought the end of the breeding season would put an end to his springtime melancholy, but such was not the case. His co-leader had taken a stroll north over the past few days and returned in short order, but even that had not shaken the hurt deep in Reyes’ bones. He didn’t have words to explain it, not in this language, not in the one he was born to – not even the way he moved through the trees and was drown to the rolling water by some unnatural force.
He was no forest wolf, no wolf of the northern clime, where water was abundant and free.
Thunder growled overhead, warning of a springtime storm rolling in. Rain pattered against the trees as it threatened to only get worse. Still, Reyes stood, staring into the rolling rapids as his heart seized and clenched in turn. A sigh shuddered through him, and it sounded just like the clouds cracking open overhead.
The spring…
No pups…
Nothing sat well with him, not right now.