Present:
Astor
I had spent the past few days in a fog, drifting in and out of awareness, as the members of the Snow Mountain pack moved about their day to day lives, moments passing by effortlessly without my attention. My palm burned, the cut healing in a strange, puckered wound that continued to seep a vile pus despite the care I had taken to cleanse and bandage it after the strange moment in my mother’s bedchamber. The whole thing felt like a fever dream, the details too strange and ominous to be based in reality.
I had not seen her since I ran from her chambers, and for the first time in a long time, there was nothing in my heart that missed her or wanted to be near her.
There had been several moments since where I thought I saw her on the outskirts, occupying my periphery of my v
