There had been one recurring dream, the one that always brought snarls to his lips in the middle of the night. It never played out exactly the same way in his mind, so swamped with sickness. But it always started the same way. His father and brother spitting angry words at one another, furious at the history that had created such a rift between them. Sleekwing could never understand what they were saying, their anger with one another muffling the words in mere growls and roars. And he couldn’t reach them, unable to descend the steep cliff from which he looked on. The verbal abuse would deteriorate, until finally father struck son, or vice versa. It was different every time. Once, Swallowbane lunged for their father’s throat. Another time, Alcide bowled his son over, pinning him to the ground. No matter what, they ended up in a battle, their blood soiling the beautiful mountain soil. Finally, Sleekwing would find a hidden path and race down the mountainside. But when he arrived in the clearing it was always too late. Both of them lay dead, anger and sorrow pulling their features into horrible grimaces. And he would climb between their broken bodies and bridge the gap between them that had never been given a chance to heal.

That was when he would wake up, shaking and delusional, unable to tell the difference between his hallucinations and reality. The only constant in all his confusion was the midnight hued female, Kiyomi, who cared for him even when he lashed out at her in his delirium. Sometimes his mind would clear, and he would wake to find her curled up next to him, trying to quell the shivering that had come with the illness. It was mornings like that that he would ask her to take him home, when he thought he was strong enough to make the trip. She always obliged, but they would be no more than an hour into their journey when his mind would become muddled once more, and his leading them in circles just resulted in them ending up back in the valley.

When the winds of winter finally dissipated, and the snows melted away, the warmth of the spring sun seemed to rejuvenate him. Slowly, he began to regain his strength. He had lost a fair amount of weight over the winter, despite Kiyomi’s efforts to keep him well fed. But now he was able to consume everything she brought him, and even managed to catch a meal or two for himself. One day he lifted his head to the horizon and closed his eyes, nostrils flaring as he tested the breeze for scents of home. That day they had set forth, their trail sure footed for the first time in months, and Sleekwing moved with a determination that was reminiscent of who he had been before he had fallen ill.

Kiyomi’s excitement was irrepressible, as she quite literally danced down the path before him. She would stop and circle back to him, drilling him with questions about the mountain he called home. Although he chuckled at her insatiable interest in his home, and answered her questions as best he could, a deep seated guilt ate at the pit of his stomach. He had been away for far longer than he should have been, and he worried about his family. Daenerys was a more than capable leader, but he had devoted himself to the pack’s protection, and then simply vanished off the map. He hoped that she would forgive him for abandoning his post.

The slight incline of the terrain was hardly noticeable, unless you knew what you were looking for. The older male smiled at his youthful companion as she twisted and turned, dancing about and asking how close they were to crossing into Spirane’s boundary. As she began to chase her tail, making tight circles that made her agility quite obvious, Sleekwing continued forward another few strides and then stopped. His nostrils flared and he inhaled deeply, letting the scent of his home wash over him, taking in all the messages Daenerys had left upon the borders for those who came calling. For a moment he simply reveled in it, and then his eyes popped open and he looked up at the mountain, curious. The scent of youth was fresh upon the air, and one would have to be a complete dunce not to realize that some of those pups belonged to the Queen, bearing royal blood. Sleekwing was an uncle again. He practically jumped for joy, suddenly feeling as lively as Kiyomi.

Turning he dashed back to her, nudging his nose into her hip to get her attention, before whirling on the spot and rushing back to the borders. He thrust his nose to the sky, releasing a howl. He called out to the pack, telling them he was home, he was well, and he brought company. He sang of his congratulations to the pack, honoring the births of the new puppies upon the mountain. He let his eyes open slightly, glancing to either side in search of Kiyomi, and wondering if she would add her song to his.