A Northern midnight usually felt heavy in a grand, almost comforting way, but tonight, it felt sharp enough to prickle at the skin. Zarius came awake slowly, awareness snagging on discomfort. He couldn't quite move the way he wanted to. He was cramped. Not the bone-deep, grinding ache of the curse, thank the gods, but a physical restriction nonetheless.
He cracked an eye open. The room was still dark, that early-morning gray that makes every shadow look like a lurking beast. And then he noticed why he felt trapped. Cherion was clinging to his side like glue. Somehow, in the middle of the night, the boy had crossed into Zarius's space and refused to let go. Fingers curled tight around his arm, cheek pressed against his shoulder, he looked like a little bear cub hanging on for dear life.
It was ridiculous. Totally undignified for a Great Wolf. Yet, Zarius didn't pull away immediately.
