time was running out, for him. he needed to find heda, and throw himself into her fold. he had been thinking of her nonstop since leaving the wilds; her face had been the last he had seen, before traveling north again. there was no name, no face, so dear to him as that of heda. she had supplanted the memory of everyone he had ever loved, and now, in these desperate days, she rose from demigod to omnipotent in his mind, supreme over the entire world.

the wolfdog entered the moraine, disgruntled and bewildered. not much luck had come to him, thus far. enraged, he kicked rocks, pebbles skittering down the silver path, and raked his claws against the stone. he had taken to chewing the hair on his ruff, and pulled a tuft out now, spitting it angrily on the ground. his breathing was quick and heavy, his heartbeat racing.

he paced up and down the moraine, fighting his own invisible battles. should a living being cross his path, he would quit the war in his mind and take his teeth to their pelt.