The wolf had not heeded the advice given to him by the lady named Smoke. He had not gone to a healer, defaulting instead to the other instructions the mare had laid down for him. Now, a jagged scar ran down his healing leg. The salt water and poultice had fixed the infection, and that was the problem the wolf really wanted to remedy. His steps were firm now, paws smacking the frost laden ground as he made his way north, toward the Foothills. These lands were still foreign to him, but the lingering scent of wolves in his nostrils made me believe that he was getting close to the land which was a promised haven to his family.

The hybrid was unaware, however, that the leadership had fluctuated, and that the one who had promised him such safety had since relocated. Unaware, so blissfully unaware.

Comadre flew on overhead, violet eyes seeking out the details that Osiris could not see. The glimmer of his obsidian scales was enough to remind the wolf that his bonded was nearby, and that was calming. Even if he had not met Virva at the river, he was certain she would be safe. That small mare had a surprising amount of strength, living through the shadow that was cast on their former home. One unicorn, who did not seem threatening, would surely not be enough to snuff out the light in her eyes. At least this is what the wolf tells himself as worries creep quietly into his heart.

The massive bulk of fur moves at a swift pace, cantering for what seems like the first time in ages. With the pain in his leg forgotten, the wound all but healed, he was free to move as he wished. His movement, of course, was propelled forward to check on the lives he had entrusted to others. His family, the small clan of wolves from the mountains of Isilme, had been a strange sort of comfort for the stallion. They had nursed him after the cataclysm, and he had guarded them from the moving shadows of Isilme. Together, they had lived through much, and he wondered where he would be without them.

Lost to darkness, he is quite certain.

Boundaries of the Foothills mean little to the large wolf, who moves on silent paws forth on the cold grass. He would not be aware of the invisible line even if he would be worried. Still, the croppings of rocks and the mountains in view hint to him that if he is not in the land known as the Windtossed Foothills, he is likely close. He presses on. Mane and tail weave with the air behind him, winter coat ruffling with the catch of wind as it billows onward. The sweat on his frame feels the chill of this winter kiss, but it does not impede upon his movement. Such a difference is seen from one shrill coo from above, though, as Comadre signals that his sharp eyes have caught on a familiar target.

Immediately, steps slow, Osiris breathes ragged, his golden eyes scouring the terrain for the sight that his dragon has. There, the reptile urges, flashing a vision of a wolf peering carefully from behind a shrub. A nicker escapes Osiris’s larynx, filling the air with a warm relief. Little sister, watching carefully to assure her eyes are not fooling her. The reunion is sweet, happy, and gentle. The wolf meets his family again, the trio running from the bushes toward the side of the hybrid, who greets each warmly with a nudge of his face.

Who would have known that such a rejected creature like Osiris could understand and appreciate so much the sense of family.