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"Please, come to bed, Asta."
Molaki was standing outside, arms crossed over his chest, his shoulders hunched into himself as he looked exhaustedly on at his mate.
They were outside in the clearing in front of their door, and it was pitch black. The dead of night. Asta was standing in front of the white wolf a few paces, looking straight up in the air, her arms stiff at her sides. It was as though she was a statue - a frozen one, Molaki concluded.
"It'll be what it'll be, you can't keep reading."
Asta hadn't answered him, just intensely watchin the sky.
"You feel it too though, right?" She finally asked.
The wolf sighed, his ears ripping even more dramatically.
"I did, yes. The storm is still coming."
"But do you still think so?"
