The boy was a hope and a comfort. Cyron, the boy called himself, and though stuttered words told her of a mother and a father and a whole pack, bits of information slipping through as he wallowed in self-pity. Had she been in Moonspear still, she would have been amazed by the weakness and the softness of the boy; and would have had nothing to do with him. But here, in the cave in the Woods, he was an anchor, a purpose. His weakness made it all the easier to claim guardianship over him, to shelter and to tend to him. It made her bolder, this purpose, made her stronger; for a purpose was all one sought in life. 

She told him stories, now, of the mountain and the Cerberus and the adventures she'd had on it. As she did, her stomach twisted; regretting her distance and independence and unwillingness to become more involved in the pack. She loved her mother, as she did no one else, but with her too was aloof more often than not, and wondered if her mother even guessed at her disappearance. So many had left her, her siblings and her father, and she was but the final one to do so. Her stomach twisted in on itself, and she fell silent when she realized the boy was asleep. 

She shifted closer to him, resting her head on her paws and wondering. The boy brought with him respite from hate and fear and purposelessness, and she thought about what might happen after she left this place for the first time in a long while. She'd go back to Moonspear, she wouldn't be the final member of her family to leave her mother. She'd do more, work more, be better. As her eyelids fluttered closed, imagining just how she might escape with the child, she was blissfully unaware of just how deeply she had become entangled in Blackfeather, how easily she had fallen into Vaati's trap, how bloody the coming days would be.