Gingerfrost was a little tired, and almost instinctively his paws carried him to the place of his birth. It would soon be that time, after all, a though that remained in the back of his mind. He was about to head to the old nest in the back of the nursery, one that hadn't been cleaned in nearly four seasons, yet a familiar pelt caught his eye. He turned and watched. It was Flyfur, and without much thinking he changed his route.
The young warrior approached his adoptive mother, sitting down near her
"hey," he greeted with the usual mutter his voice carried
"It has... been a little bit. How have you been?" He looked up, somewhere wanting to ask about what happened to Dogflame, but decided to wait. There were chances it was a sensitive topic and perhaps... He wanted to be able to speak to the one who took care of him for so long without grimm news and memories constantly hanging in the air. Or at least, not start it that way.