[Sleeping Woods, evening] Candle in the window. Open to Mowgli.
The sun had set almost an hour before and Swan had transformed as he had every night over the last few years. That wasn't unusual. What was unusual was that, unlike the nights over the last few months, Mowgli wasn't there to greet him again. It hadn't happened often, but often enough lately to concern Swan. Was Mowgli all right? Was he perhaps not coming back despite his assurances? It was irrational, perhaps, especially since Mowgli had told him he was only going out to find them food, but Swan couldn't help but worry.

So he sat now by the cabin window, the weather far too cold to wait for Mowgli outside, with a candle and a fire in the fireplace casting warm, flickering light across the room.