A Drizzle of Home

26 | A Drizzle of Autumn

I lowered my snout to the crisp water, eyes tracing the vibrant colors in its rippling reflection. After a long and painful year, we were back to autumn. The forest floor around me glowed in the fading, reddened sun, unshielded by the barren canopy above. An orange leaf floated on the surface, its four-pointed shape reminiscent of a paw. Even dead, it was full of color. Not gray and weathered from a life of tireless wandering.

Leaves grew into existence exactly where they belonged, but all it took was a tug of the wind––a sway of a branch––for a leaf to fall. By the end of the fall, each and every leaf would end up on the ground, doomed to a stagnant life and crushed into oblivion beneath a thousand feet.

They'd never return to the place where they came from, hanging among the branches. Never again be a shining green in the sunlight. They would no longer feel the calm of rustling in the breeze with its fellow leaves.

But a few lucky ones ended up in the water, set on a rushing course downriver. Perhaps they could be content with a life of displacement, having the chance to feel the rush of the water like no other leaves would. At the mercy of only the current, they were fated to meet others drifting in the river of life. And when it finally found a place to rest, washed up on a foreign streambed, just then, it could find peace.

A few of those very leaves lay beneath my paws, littering the small, pebble-lined bank. They'd finally found their home. I envied them. They only had one autumn in their life, one big change that set their lives in motion, never to be the same. Too bad I wasn't done drifting, that the leaves in my life would never stop falling.

Before I backed away from the water, I closed my teeth gently around the petiole of a large, yellowish leaf that retained patches of its lively green. It fanned out widely, nearly as large as my face, with jagged points along the edges. A sycamore leaf, I believed, remembering bits and pieces of Dad's explanations from our regular treks through the woods. Mom's favorite part was always collecting the prettiest autumn leaves.

I hoped the gift might raise her spirits now––needed it to, for all our sakes. With Avens sick, there wasn't much joy between any of us.

Paws turned toward the woods, my ears picked up on a slight rustle to the left. I rolled my eyes, pretending I hadn't heard at all, and trotted past the line of trees. More loud and clumsy crunching followed behind me, until finally, I ducked backward. A flash of tan tumbled to the ground in front of me.

Shore landed on her paws, a premeditated growl of triumph already in her throat. It was cut short as her narrowed eyes shot to me, standing on the sidelines instead of pinned beneath her.

Setting the leaf on the ground, I grinned. "A stealth-attack is supposed to have this thing called stealth."

The lanky she-wolf only stuck out her tongue. "Like you can do any better?" she goaded, head held high and tail flicking back and forth with a challenge.

My own tail swayed at the thought, before quickly falling flat. Mom was waiting for us at home, and we needed to get going before it got dark. She'd worry if we weren't home. "I'm sure the pack's wondering where we got off to." I shook my muzzle, smile fading. "I don't have time to show you up." Forcing out a laugh at my own joke, I picked up the sycamore leaf. I couldn't find the energy in myself to actually be amused.

Shore scrunched her nose and huffed a groan. "Don't be such a buzzkill, Drizz!" She lowered her shoulders, taunting me with another wag in her hips. "What happened to my fun brother?"

I hummed nonchalantly. "He's on vacation," I said, forcing the words through clamped jaws. "Seriously, Dad has enough stress without having to come searching for us. We didn't even finish the whole patrol route. Let's just go."