July 6th; Light rain; 55° F/13° C
Angier was in a body-gripping sort of hysteria. He was shaking and trembling, on the verge of panting but still able to manage his breathing by keeping his jaws parted. It wasn't because the rain had soaked through his thin, summer coat, or because he had thought he had seen something moving through the sheets of rain and veil-like branches of the willows. No, he was this way because of an entirely different reason; and, this had happened before - twice - but this had been the first time it had happened to him. Him! Of all the wolves in the world. Had this been bound to happen from the start like he had pondered so many times before when he had thought of having cubs with @Elettra? Had the Old Gods just decided to be so cruel as any other deity to lure his first-born son away? What had he done to deserve such a thing? His loyalty had never been questioned, all traces of wanderlust had been stamped out of him, and his devotion to Elettra couldn't even be doubted due to the times when he constantly spent hours by her side...
So, why? Why, why, why?!
Unable to contain himself any longer, he ushered @Castiel and @Greer into the pack den and instructed them to stay there after assigning both @Adelaide and @Sorya at the entrance to ensure his remaining prodigy did not go misplaced. On his way towards the borders, he alerted @Asriel and @Xetor as to what had just been realized. Upon running into Sköll, he sent the gangly shadow of a yearling to spread the word to @Rowan and @Lunas (and perhaps even @Morganna if he was able to locate her, even she seemed to be keeping to herself as of late also).
Nose to the ground and tail in the air, Angier began to retrace his steps He had just seen and counted each of his son's still downy-furred crowns the night before. One, two, three. Just like that. Now all of a sudden there was one missing - @Deacon. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. His beloved would be furious. Absolutely furious. With wide and wild yellow eyes his eyes darted from one willow to another, swiftly checking under one umbrella before moving onto the next. The boy was nearly two moons (months) old; he shouldn't have gone that far. Considering that even a once roly-poly Sköll barely made it ten yards over the borders as a cub, Deacon should not have been able to wander too far.
"Deacon!" he tried, traversing the borders now at a ground-eating lope. If his boy had made it this far, there was already a chance that the light drizzle had already washed away all traces of his most recent scent trail. He let loose an unmistakably distressed howl into the gray skies above him. "Deacon? DEACON!"
Are you watching closely?
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