It felt unusual for him to be back after having lost his way for so long; his journey had seemed but a dream, clouded by a sea of uncertainty and thoughtlessness. At times, the fog that lay heavy in his mind had parted but for a moment - but only ever to allow her face, the face of that dark Iromarian girl, to peek through like a shadow. She had never lead him, though, and he had ceaselessly roamed into the world beyond. At times, he awoke beneath strange trees, strange skies, and beneath even strangers scents. It all seemed new and yet, old at the same time. Some part of it reminded him of his mother - a stale scent here and there, or a tangle of white fur caught between the fingers of a branch. He had searched for some kind of sense out there and yet none had ever come. Instead, he merely grew tired. His paws had become bruised and chafed and his stomach had grown weary with meals too small to even count. Starved for everything, he knew he had to return to Moladion.
It had taken him just as long to return and by the time his paws had hit the familiar soil below, the seasons had changed once more. Leaves turned to sharp shades of red and orange and the rivers ran cold as he lapped from their depths. At least, he supposed, it gave him some bearing on how long he had been gone. Months, it seemed. Too long, perhaps. But had he even been missed? Had his disappearance been noticed? It made his stomach feel hollow with the familiar sense of displacement. Nobody had to care that he had left - he'd never given them a reason to, after all.
He had taken his leave from the valley soon enough, having skirted around the borders of Taviora momentarily as he did so. They resonated with a familiar scent and yet, it had not been Coszcotl - the promise of change within kept him away for the time being, his body a tangled mess of nerves at the thought of facing authority again. Instead, he had taken towards the forests, where the mid afternoon sun spread out through the thinned canopies. Dappled light fell onto the crushed leaves below. It was there that he had found himself a nook to rest within; between several stones, a log had fallen and beneath it, he had become tucked away safely for some time. He had coiled himself into a loose ball, his messy white fur sticking out from his little den and into the light - anybody might have mistaken him for a mere scrap of fur, or some unusual plant. However, all he knew is that there - lost in the scent of soil and silence of the forest - he had found himself a moment of peace.
wraith
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