Book One, Chapter Five, Post Three

Far ahead of the others, Tyrects can only distantly hear them talking in the dark. And for a moment, the loneliness he has felt so often begins to creep back in, burrowing itself uncomfortably — but in a frustratingly familiar fashion — beneath his skin. The sensation is cold but one that couldn’t be warmed by the light of the sun or fire.

Then, a voice — no, a series of voices — whisper and call through the emptiness. “Come home.” They too are familiar but more distantly so. “Brother, come home.”

Tyrects pushes the voices aside for now to return to his friends, growling at the night.