THE CALL | return

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It may be the wildcat possessed a mediocre sense of direction.  The stars, in their familiar patterns, served him well, but they only shone during the night.  As the sun danced through the canopy, Torren glanced behind him.  The thick, striped tail behind him curled upwards as he tried to remember the last time he made a turn.

The air had grown humid and the wandering prince finally began feeling as though he may be on the right track.  Determined, the feline kept on, ignoring the growing ache in his paws.  If he was finally close, then he did not want to stop yet (since when did you care so much about the destination?).

When Torren stumbled onto the border, his eyes lit up.  Relieved, he took a seat, likely in the very same place Aurum found him the first day.  Breathing out, he rested his tail over his paws and perked his ears for any sound of movement.  Although he itched to call out, to seek the arctic fox with eyes of autumn and winter, patience kept him silent.  He could wait to see his friend for just a little longer.
[align=right]lucent. (adj.)