Too many days, too many nights - she had been away too long already, and Damascus wondered if her return would be welcomed. Any wolf who abandoned the post in her previous home - the one which she ruled, albeit briefly - had been chased out with great prejudice; would it be the same here? Maybe this was what kept her from appearing even after the wound had begun to stitch itself together. She was nervous of the fallout her abandonment may have caused.

Nervous, as well, of the thought that they'd never even notice. Perhaps the wolves of Morningside were too busy with their own lives to realize one of the recruits had fallen.

But she did her best to return as hastily as she could. It was at least a week since the incident - an event that Damascus could scarcely recall in full, now - but she picked her path carefully, and made gradual progress towards the cuesta. When the scent of Grayday hit her snout she knew she had made it - and her anxiety spiked.

He was in the meadow, and he was alone. Damascus saw his silhouette and sought it out with some haste, although there was an obvious limp to her body each time she put weight down on her hindquarters; she couldn't remember where the injury was, only that her hips burned and her ribs did not want to expand or stretch with her breath as easily as they used to.

With a call she alerted him to her presence, then slumped down among the grasses, too tired to get close.