Ruan
He'd gone to the mountain first, just in case. Scouring the masses of still-wandering creatures for the one he wanted.
the one he needed..
But the boy wasn't there. Ignoring cries for help, he shot through the air like a humming bird, only halting long enough to scan their faces then move on. Eventually, he had to admit defeat. On the mountain, at least.
There was a belt of woodland that trailed its base, lipped the edge of Taiga, and melted into the common forest. It was the closest thing to home, where the wolves had run rampant and free, and his next best option. Too dense to see from above, he landed and made his way on foot. His wings were tired anyway.
He didn't call out, and he wasn't quite sure why. It wasn't the wolf way, perhaps. Or maybe he felt he'd just know when Kilter was near, however impossible it sounded. So he hunted in silence, his chest heaving until his heartbeat would return to its natural pace. He'd flown a lot more than he ever had yet, and he felt drained. Bone-tired.
He spent hours stalking through the forest, snuffling at foliage every so often for a hint of the colt. With every passing hour he grew more concerned, worry lining his face. Fearful he wouldn't find him. A light in his eye was slowly dying, but he refused to stop. Hunger clawed at his belly and his mouth was parched, and he was oblivious to it; only one thing on his mind.
And then he thought he might have lost his mind a little. He'd heard somewhere the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results. That was what he was doing, wasn't it? Because now he was seeing a mirage of his pup. no not his And he could swear it was him.
He approached carefully, quietly, watching intently for the image to disperse. Halting a good few feet away, he lowered his head and tried testing the scents in the dirt, eyes never leaving the colt.
"Kilter.." he called softly, afraid to feel the tide of relief that begged to drown him.
the one he needed..
But the boy wasn't there. Ignoring cries for help, he shot through the air like a humming bird, only halting long enough to scan their faces then move on. Eventually, he had to admit defeat. On the mountain, at least.
There was a belt of woodland that trailed its base, lipped the edge of Taiga, and melted into the common forest. It was the closest thing to home, where the wolves had run rampant and free, and his next best option. Too dense to see from above, he landed and made his way on foot. His wings were tired anyway.
He didn't call out, and he wasn't quite sure why. It wasn't the wolf way, perhaps. Or maybe he felt he'd just know when Kilter was near, however impossible it sounded. So he hunted in silence, his chest heaving until his heartbeat would return to its natural pace. He'd flown a lot more than he ever had yet, and he felt drained. Bone-tired.
He spent hours stalking through the forest, snuffling at foliage every so often for a hint of the colt. With every passing hour he grew more concerned, worry lining his face. Fearful he wouldn't find him. A light in his eye was slowly dying, but he refused to stop. Hunger clawed at his belly and his mouth was parched, and he was oblivious to it; only one thing on his mind.
And then he thought he might have lost his mind a little. He'd heard somewhere the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results. That was what he was doing, wasn't it? Because now he was seeing a mirage of his pup. no not his And he could swear it was him.
He approached carefully, quietly, watching intently for the image to disperse. Halting a good few feet away, he lowered his head and tried testing the scents in the dirt, eyes never leaving the colt.
"Kilter.." he called softly, afraid to feel the tide of relief that begged to drown him.
