“What if you couldn’t fly?” Ghost asked Old Crow absentmindedly.

“Hatching a plan are we?” Old Crow purred, his eyes narrowing.

Ghost regretted the question. Ghost knew he was bound to Old Crow, until one or both of them perished, and maybe beyond that.

They sat in silence for a long time.

Ghost could hear the wolves again in the distance.

“I’d make sure they remembered me.” Old Crow finally answered.

A sharp yelp came from the woods.

“It’s easy to fit in the pack. Weaving in and out of the crowd. No one taking notice. It’s much harder to forget the misfits.”

Old Crow flew off toward the sounds of distress.

Labels: Fresh Gravel For Your Craw, ghost, Inktober, Inktober Day 18, Old Crow, Pentel