Silverlight Terrace feral roots

Near a hilltop, the wind turned near caustic against his damp nose. He lingered there but a moment, for the vantage point did not quite reveal to him where Lyra had disappeared to in the storm. This did not deter him from attempting to follow, if for nothing else to pass the time. It was long the downward slope of the incline that her figure emerged from the haze, ever razor-backed like her siblings.

He gently waved his tail as she neared, her features relaxing, but the words she spoke seemed more distant than the rest of her. It was expected, the wind not quite in their favor today—but when it had been lately? At least she had double backed, he thought, and then sought to close the distance between them.

”It's dangerous to go alone,” said the knave with his stolen phrase, though it lacked any seriousness. Lyra was every bit as able as her sisters; he knew she could handle many things on her own. He then appended: ”Though a wolf wonders why another would wander in weather like this.” Nothing usual would have drawn her out, not to wander in snows as wild as the wilderness surrounding them, so what else could it have been? Trouble, no doubt.