Angels on the moon.

[Conor Soul]

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Not everyone were counted for, and there was one little soul missing. The snow storm had only worsened, though that was what had driven the Dahlian leader out into the foul weather in the first place. Conor knew nothing of the destruction that would affect his house and endanger the creatures he loved. Instead he was out doing rounds, keeping tally of pack wolves and making certain that children were safe. Range was missing, and the thought that he might be lost out in the cold was hideous to even draw close to. Heart beat quickly within its ribcage prison; building up dismaying amounts of anxiety and quiet fear for the child that he couldn’t find. Conor knew not where Gideon was at this moment either, but he could not settle with not knowing. He had to make sure that the child was safe—his own blood.

But how could he hope to find anything in this world of stormy white? ”Range?” voice seemed to be carried away by the solid turns made by a rabid wind, and snow was ruthlessly thrown into his face. This was not good; no one should be out wandering in this weather. The child had probably found shelter somewhere, for the alpha was no longer following the puppy footprints that had led him out into this search in the first place. ”Range!” Ears lay flat against his cinnamon form, but the thought of turning was not once apparent in the man’s mind. Lupus form continued to force its way through the piling snow, though he knew that he was treading blindly now.