Dragoncrest Cliffs The wind is on the rise,

Stag had been sidetracked on his search for Wylla, for out on the coast he was assaulted with a new scent -- the exhilarating smell of the ocean. Here he had seen luxurious flowers in late summer bloom, including a line of bobbing strands of purple flowers which, at a distance, settled like indigo haze over goldenrod meadows.

But a scream -- Wylla's scream -- ripped him suddenly into reality. All thoughts of collecting these flowers for Phaedra was gone as that cry cut through him ruthless as a freshly stoned knife; his stomach dropped and he was in a run before he knew it.

Umbra and Sunhawk were long gone by the time Stag came upon Wylla. Her face was dark with blood, and she was pawing at something wrong on her face. Stag rushed to her and nearly threw up himself when he saw not one, but several puddles of vomit -- swallowing back the bile that threatened to overcome him, Stag was horrified to find Wylla bloodied and very much missing an eye. His fur was on end and his skin prickling as he looked wildly about them, expecting an ambush in any moment. "Oh my god -- Wylla -- holy shit. Wylla. Wylla -- are you okay?"