Serris had never been this lonely before. Sure, he had lived as a loner once upon a time, back in the unspeakable time of his past, but nothing compared to this. No, there was nothing like being home and yet completely isolated from your family. It was torture. It was punishment. It was agony, pulsing deep in his abdomen. If only they’d decide the stupid fight already. He grit his teeth hard, a new habit he seemed to have picked up these last couple of days. At least his wounds weren’t infected. That was something. But not much.

It was hard to admit, but Serris had no idea how to deal with this kind of situation. So he had decided to live as a shadow, remaining within the pack while cutting off all contact until after he was positively sure he was still Alpha of these lands. But then a stranger had come, a newcomer, and as ruler of Munashii, that was something he simply could not ignore. Now his scent was out, clinging to the trees, and he was just waiting for the mob to appear with pitchforks and torches. And this bloody cold air didn’t help any, either.

It was Aindreas he was most worried about. From rather routinely deserting him, to being ignorant of his love affairs, to accusing him of conspiring to take control of his pack, Serris didn’t know how the boy would act anymore. He still wasn’t sure if that last assumption was correct or not. But the kid had always been so blindly loyal, so hard working... it almost reminded Serris of the son he never had, although he didn’t want to admit it. It was like Kobato all over again. But that had turned out well enough, hadn’t it?

The dark hessian, still waiting anxiously for the verdict that seemed would never come, grumpily rose to his limbs for his bi-daily dip in the river. Gotta keep those scabs clean. If only the water weren’t so frigid. Everything seemed to be getting on his nerves lately; even the water that he worshiped so much was turning into a burden. Serris knew hesitation wouldn’t solve anything, so the warboy plunged into the icy depths, bathing each of his three wounds in the chilling liquid. The first was on his cheek, two trailing lines that looked worse than it was. The second was a gash in his shoulder, deep enough to cause a surprising amount of pain, but shallow enough to avoid any real damage to the muscle of the joint. The third, and most serious, was a brutal wound to the stomach, a big ugly thing that wouldn’t give him a moment’s rest. Every movement hurt; laying down was near impossible for the first few days. Now he just tuned out the pain. Standing shoulder deep in the mountain stream, Serris heaved a great sigh. No, never before had he been this lonely. It cut him deeper than this melted snow ever could.