7/25/2025, 10:09 PM
![[Image: tumblr-7f82976b6f0737e4858fc1d3e6600064-...f-540.webp]](https://i.postimg.cc/QtHHdJNF/tumblr-7f82976b6f0737e4858fc1d3e6600064-40de92af-540.webp)
He'd found some notion of solace in the south, where the marshes seemed to sprawl for miles and the mist shrouded the Silvercreek from every passing scent and prying eye. He was well-attuned to such terrain, and wiled his days away hunting the plush-pelted beaver and freshwater fish. His long limbs and willowy form made traversing the mire simple. He spent more time draped in the marshes' myriad of plants than he did pristine and clean, and it gave him a rebellious thrill as well as an unwelcome pang of nostalgia for simpler days. He wouldn't be caught dead looking so disheveled amongst the Haven wolves, not even after the most raucous nights of wining and dining his way to some semblance of security.
For the most part, his life there was self-sustaining, if isolated. But he'd wandered too far in his travels of the marshes, and caught the distant and fading scent of a familiar Haven wolf that had sent him bolting from his misty sanctuary faster than his brain could catch up to his feet. Before Silver knew it, he was trotting along through moorlands instead of the swamps. He'd been through here before - few packs called these lands their own. Silver knew not to let his guard down, ever, but this would do nicely as a spot to hide out for a bit, until the Haveners lost his trail, if they'd ever caught it.
The frog atop his shoulders croaked as the pale man idly meandered through the taller grasses. There wasn't much cover here, but it was kind of nice to see the sun again - to feel like he could run if he wanted to, instead of the urge to sink into the cold water of the marshlands like an alligator stalking its prey. Ahead, another silvery figure was nearly hidden in the grass. Silver's nose told him she was alone, so he sidled a little closer instead of veering into the horizon.
Miss? Are you alright?He chimed, voice still melodic despite his self-imposed exile - the marshlands had been filled with the Silvercreek's serenade for the weeks he'd spent in the fog-shrouded cover they provided, for he knew what his talents were, and would not let his voice waste away no matter the circumstances.
Citlali