Epilogue

"A bright young lad at seventeen," the elderly Okotan whispered to himself. "The nights've only grown colder without ya, son." He raised his mug of seidu to the painting his only child had never finished. "Still," he said slowly, after taking a sip from his mug, "I don't think yer dead. Yer too stubborn for that." He took another swig. "Missing fer a few months? Bet that'll grow ya into a real man."

The cold night air blew through the window, sending a chill into the old man. Nights really are getting colder, he thought. His hands fumbled before he could get a firm grip on the wolf pelt those kind protectors had given him a few days ago. With its warmth wrapped entirely around him, he couldn't help smiling.

Though he had no idea why, his son had never felt so close.