It's not supposed to snow in the South Forest, but the weather in the second-emptiest corner of Shelha is not the only thing behaving strangely. When an ex-tyrant started acting up again, Sethral had hoped it meant the end of lazy days and monotonou...
Scents were easier to follow than signatures, though they didn't travel as far. Jay dipped his head close to the water to find a better lead. A glimpse of colour caught his eye; copper fur peeked through the greenery at the edge of an overgrown stretch of water.
He was lying in the stream. Clever creature.
The scent, as Jay walked the last few tail-lengths, made Ryatzi's condition all too clear. Jay found him tucked beneath a bush, cradled in a streamside eddy and shielded by leafy boughs. Minnows flocked about his hindquarters. He had kept the worst Drakon damage underwater, cutting his smell and keeping off the flies. The wounds on his back and chest were not so lucky, but that was easy to remediate. Jay pulled the small hunter out from under the bush. The stream was shallow, so he lay down and tucked Ryatzi against his flank. Fly larvae writhed, stripped of their air, and were picked off by the minnows.
Ryatzi was in a high fever, though doing better than he would have without the stream. The trip back to Rockhall would have to be a quick one. Leaving Ryatzi in the water, Jay walked a short ways up the bank and fanned his wings nervously. He wasn't sure he was ready for this. But Ryatzi would die if the fever took over between this water and the Rockhall pool.
Well, here went nothing.
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Silversand shrieked as Wing padded in the second exit just as the sun began its descent. In a heartbeat the mutt was seized in several hugs.
"Where's Jay?" gasped Silversand. "Is he alright? Where did he go? Is he safe?"
"He's coming."
The mutt was clearly exhausted. Sethral dropped off his back and pulled Silversand with her. Wing carried Whipper back to Stormhole, then curled up on a mossy ledge and flaked out. Silversand was completely unable to sit still, so Sethral turned her around and gave her a push. She began to dash laps around the boulder. Sethral flew to Jay's room and swiped fresh supplies, then returned to Stormhole. Whipper had cleaned Wing's paws and was grooming the mutt's fur. It never lay straight or flat, even when perfectly cleaned.
Sethral eyed it. "Should I send catface down to help you?"
The Forester giggled. "I think she'd die of frustration. Though if she needs something to do, sure."
The pattering of Silversand's paws passed by overhead again, barely audible through the stone.
"I'll leave her," said Sethral. "She can be an alarm when Jay gets back."
But the cat passed out on the boulder long before the Northlander returned. Sethral helped Whipper finish Wing's fur, then let the Forester curl up under her wing. The twins were off on the flats somewhere, so Rockhall soon fell silent.
Whipper was still asleep when Sethral opened her eyes again the next morning. She stifled a gasp. Tucked at the back of a ledge opposite her was a slip of a creature with gorgeous copper fur. Jay must have returned, and he had not returned alone. Sethral tugged her satchel open. Stuffed in its bottom corner was a thistlecloth blanket, a sheet of downy grey as warm as an undercoat but able to scrunch to the size of her fist. She pulled it out and unfurled it. It was a bit of an art to cover Whipper and free up her wing without waking the Forester, but she managed. She dropped from the alcove and picked her way across the mossy boulders.
