It'll be an effort, near insurmountable, but Corrigan feels for the first time in so...so long that he might be capable of it. That he might survive this. He can turn his thoughts and energy to supporting and being with his pack, keeping them safe and strong and loved, making their house a home again. Until Kurt comes home. Because they have to come home -- Corrigan can't allow himself to think otherwise, or he'll be lost.
He wants it so desperately, so fervently that he almost thinks he's imagining the curl of scent that reaches him on the crisp wintry air. Corrigan knows there's nothing there in the link, but he reaches out anyway, even though he knows encountering the shattered remnants of where Kurt once was will only hurt him. They ache, like an old wound, like a broken bone that healed wrong, that throbs with pain when the rain approaches. He reaches for them anyway and even though it's dead, it's gone, he almost -- almost feels something.
Maybe it's the link, maybe it's his soul itself, recognizing that presence with something deeper than human or wolf senses could explain. His reason for existence, the center of his universe, found in this world (and, perhaps, in a hundred thousand others) and tying him to it and always, always meant to return to him. Corrigan stands with a shaky jerk, his very being singing and straining towards the sound, the scent at the treeline. He can't move, can't breathe, can't do anything but wait to see if the humming in his chest is real, if the sense of familiarity, of recognition is true or just a desperate wish.
He says it with every bit of hope in his soul, a prayer and a wish and a plea: "Kurt?"
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He wants it so desperately, so fervently that he almost thinks he's imagining the curl of scent that reaches him on the crisp wintry air. Corrigan knows there's nothing there in the link, but he reaches out anyway, even though he knows encountering the shattered remnants of where Kurt once was will only hurt him. They ache, like an old wound, like a broken bone that healed wrong, that throbs with pain when the rain approaches. He reaches for them anyway and even though it's dead, it's gone, he almost -- almost feels something.
Maybe it's the link, maybe it's his soul itself, recognizing that presence with something deeper than human or wolf senses could explain. His reason for existence, the center of his universe, found in this world (and, perhaps, in a hundred thousand others) and tying him to it and always, always meant to return to him. Corrigan stands with a shaky jerk, his very being singing and straining towards the sound, the scent at the treeline. He can't move, can't breathe, can't do anything but wait to see if the humming in his chest is real, if the sense of familiarity, of recognition is true or just a desperate wish.
He says it with every bit of hope in his soul, a prayer and a wish and a plea: "Kurt?"