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Barely eight and four turns, and Dusk is ready To start a journey towards growing up His father, Toss, will guide his walk Parent and child have a chance to grow closer And perhaps, closer to one day being peers Dusk is eager to become a hunter Did not want to wait for easy weather So father and son strike out in the snow The mighty bears slumber, many trees do as well As icy wind blows through bare branches Dusk and Toss draw their hoods closer 'bout red cheeks "Come, son," Toss advises, hugging his son's shivering shoulders "We're almost someplace warm -- beautiful, too! You'll soon see." Their wolves smell it first, and run on ahead Then the scent of steam hits the elves noses, too With a grin, Toss beckons his son forward Soon they see the Crystal Springs, bubbling up hot in winter Dusk's eyes light up as he takes in the scene He has always wanted to travel afar in Holt territory But cubs must stay close to the safety of Dentrees Now his young mind is filled with sights, scents and sounds Of every beauty and majesty their forest provides "Mind your footing," Toss murmurs gently, not to dispel the boy's wonder Steam rising from crystalline waters melts surrounding snows The cold winter weather freezes the ground again And everything near the springs is slicked with wet ice The wolves have found a small herd of rocksheep to tease Grazing for tough winter plants near the warm springs Excitedly, Dusk moves closer, picking his way 'cross the ice-sheeted rock Dusk and his wolf, side by side, creep right up to the herd A young ram looks up, he has had quite enough teasing With a sudden charge he butts his head into the wolf's shoulder With a cry of surprise, Dusk leaps back out of the ram's way "No, Dusk -- be careful!" Toss shouts, his warning too late Dusk's booted feet slide out from beneath him, he falls back Head and ice both crack at the impact Blood seeps from the wound, running pale on wet ground Before even the beat that Toss's heart missed, and his cub is dead "Nar! My little Nar!" But his son will never even know his own soul name **My cub! My cub is dead!** His grief-filled send rends the air Too far to touch the minds of his tribe at the Holt Miraculously, though, a reply from the scout Smoke: **Stay where you are, my friend! I am near and I'm coming.** And a send-image of the scout riding her wolf at a flat run Numbly, Toss does as he's told, clutching his cub's body protectively close 'Poor Meadowlark!' he realizes through his own blinding pain How will he manage to tell the boy's mother their son is now gone? Smoke is soon by her friend's side, she leaps from Fartrotter's back Gently, she helps Toss lift his poor dead cub onto wolfback for the trip home Though Dusk's wolf is now limping, he insists on carrying his friend one last time Barely eight and four turns, and Dusk was too young to die But then, sometimes that is The Way
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