Dragoncrest Cliffs everlong

The trek was long in the mind of a pup. He drifted in and out of a sleep-like stupor while cradled in Étoille's strong muzzle. When he was awake he drank in the sights and did his best to banish memories of the thunderstorm, but any time he closed his eyes, he remembered the dark clouds, the brilliant flashes and the heart-stopping crashes of the sky. It kept him from truly falling asleep, but they reached their destination and Ephraim couldn't have described how they got there.

There was something familiar about the air here and his heart leapt joyfully. It smelled like home, the salt tang of the breeze and the musky scent of seals. It didn't look like Ankyra Sound, but the familiarity was enough to relax him somewhat. Ankyra Sound. He had never been hungry, tired or sore there. Only happy memories. Étoille placed him on the ground and Ephraim managed to get to his feet, having recovered enough energy for that, and glanced back at the masked wolf.

What now? his beady eyes seemed to ask, but the introduction was more important. "Ephraim," he replied succinctly in a voice still soft and hoarse from all the screeching he had done the night prior. Then he looked back to the wide unknown ahead. Drageda. A word he might have associated with enemies, once, had they not left the sound before he was old enough to understand that there had been a rivalry between the two packs.