Andalusia broke through the forest at a steady clip. A limp claimed her step, but even after two day's wear, she felt only the slightest burn of stiffness and pain. She wasn't as young as she used to be; her body didn't heal as fast, or nearly as well. But that she could move without needing to break every minute for a rest was enough to set her spirits high, enough to spur her forward, enough to carry her through her venture's final stretch until she craned her neck to gaze fondly upon Silvertip's mighty peak.

She felt her lips turn up in the shadow of a smile, though her chest felt like someone had pulled out her heart and left the cavity empty. Finally, Andalusia remembered what had happened at this place, remembered the heavy weight of grief, the vacant place at Sebastian's side when he returned to her alone, without his children and without his mate in tow.

She had let herself feel that night, in ways she hadn't before, and here, at the base of the same mountain, she let herself feel again. Everything - all that she had kept so carefully bottled, concealed from @Hydra, @Amekaze, all of Moonspear. She allowed herself to feel the emotions she needed to feel, and they welled up inside her subtler than before; different, but just as strong. The hope, the expectancy, the uncertainty, the loss, the weight of every word she had left unsaid.

Every word she hadn't known how to say.

Absently, she lowered her snout to the ground and parted her jaws to drink in the scents that met her. Herbal, and earthy, riddled by the trails of predator and prey, but undisturbed by the mark of any claim. She hoped to find something of use here, a novelty they couldn't find at Moonspear, a contribution to their stocks, before summer turned to fall, and winter stole the land.

Yet after a stint of scuffling about, Andalusia found herself turned to a different trail - a tangle of wolf-scent that scored a disruptive path through the undergrowth she foraged through. Life and decay mingled together, and nearly made her miss the one faint and familiar strand that wove and intertwined with the others - distant, yet familiar, and a certain chill swept through her - 

The breeze of the cool summer night rolled against the Caldera in large and gracious plumes, cascading the grasses like the waves of the sea, and causing the strands to eddy around Andalusia and the bear of a man who shook on the ground beside her. Despite their hunger and every trouble they shared, their faced pinched with the ecstasy of laughter, and the night danced with the hush of their lungs. As if their cares had flown away; as if together, they both knew that despite every curveball of life, they would somehow come out on the otherside okay.

--

The piled mound of disturbed ground did not hide @Sebastian; this much she knew. After a moment of prodding, unearthing and reburying, Andalusia touched the ground with a quiet apology to whoever's grave she'd disturbed, before she turned and whisked her head to stare upward and out. Someone's bones rested deep beneath the earth, but Sebastian still walked with the living. He was out there, alive, and this subtle trail lit the earth like a beacon. She could taste Vela's threat bitter on her tongue - but she recalled a promise above the din.

You will have to know that I will be there for you ...
... even if I am chasing the wind. 

She couldn't leave Moonspear, and she couldn't leave him. She had made a promise to both, and her mouth ran thin, caught in the middle.

--

The setting sun cast long shadows across the lone and unmarked grave. Birdsong distilled the muggy air, while the fading scent of the mourners faded with every passing hour. They would soon disappear to the wear of time, and eventually to oblivion, forgotten like the dead they'd buried here.

Just days before, their paths had been defined by the march of death, a solemn procession to lay to rest a portion of their life, their home, their heart. And so their trail had remained until they left this place to see the passage of summer, the decay of time, and the cross of a single line of tracks that now followed their lighthouse home.