And so she had returned. Snow fell thickly, now, and the girl seemed even more like a night's sky, dotted with stars of snow. At the border, she paused, but had come to the conclusion some time ago that this was the best and only choice. Titmouse was better off without her, at home, healing. Redhawk and Moonspear were to be avoided, and in her roaming, she had come across no other packs. This was the closest thing she could call home, the familiar trees and the comforting scent of Vaati prevalent. 

She howled for him now, sitting on her haunches and peering into the depths of the wood, determined this time not to leave again. How she wished to see again the familiar white and sand pelt, the cobalt gaze, that for so long she had seen in every flurry of snow, hoped for in every flash of movement she saw.