The General's illness has not slipped past Antha — nor has his absence today, though she lurks like a ghost at the edges of the dying pack. @Julien has been much the same, and more than once they have shared words of doubt, feelings of not belonging here at all. It is difficult to find reasons to stay in the midst of their isolation. Winter is setting in, the land is withering, and Diaspora and its General seem to be following suit. Discouraged, her nightly dreams have become consumed by various scenes of departure, of freedom — in short, Antha has become miserable here.
She lingers along the borders silently, her last conversation with Julien turning over and over in her head. Part of her regrets confessing her desire to him, more because he'd agreed than in spite of it. There is guilt, after all — yet the pack is not her responsibility, nor Mahler. Her only obligation is to herself, surely, and to her own blood.
Her ears perk, thoughts suddenly interrupted by a nagging feeling that she is not alone. Her gaze searches the distance until it lands on a familiar fiery figure; @Annaliese. A smile tugs at her lips despite the turmoil of her thoughts, and she moves to greet the woman. Annaliese, She says, dipping her head slightly in greeting. Her smile fades with her next words. Mahler is not here. If you're seeking him — well, I wouldn't. The General is ill, and quite corpse-like already when I last caught a glimpse of him; perhaps he won't come back at all. A dark thought. She glances away, unknowingly toward the mountain Mahler had wandered to.
Either his illness is incurable, or he is not the healer he claimed to be when my brother and I joined. Either way, I would not want his sickness if I were you; perhaps it can be treated, but not by Diaspora's lead healer. And I'm not certain I will be here for much longer.