Two days since the pack not-quite-meeting; the second time the scent of one of the Saints’ leaders lured Finley outside the Canyon; four days too many since an odd shadow of restlessness had plagued her, and she was frankly sick of it. Adding to her annoyance the swarm kept her awake late into the night—but on the bright side, it meant Finley could enjoy the cooler breeze that swept through the mountains at this time. No wonder most wolves were nocturnal.

Donovan’s trail was recent, and Finley followed it in a dreamlike trance, only scarcely paying attention to the route. It twisted and wove through the caverns—cool, deep, almost reminiscent of the Ravensblood sequoias in their all-encompassing darkness—and she half-wondered if he’d gotten lost. He seemed to be alone. What was this about?

A claustrophobic cave doused Finley’s limbs in a murk that had her half-walking half-swimming—but on she continued, drawn to a faint bluish light ahead like a shrimp to an anglerfish. As the channel gave way to the magnificent room, she spotted Donovan ahead, his hulking form almost glowing from the ceiling’s… whatever they were. Finley had never been one to marvel, but once she shook herself off (a wordless announcement of her arrival, lest she startle him), even she had to stop and examine the… the… eh, someone more poetic would have to give them a name.

Enough of that. Bowing her head in a submissive greeting, Finley asked, “What brings you here?” At this time of night, in this part of the mountains, entirely away from Redsand?

Welp, startled him anyway. When Donovan swung around Finley tensed, unsure how he’d react—but he smiled, and with his greeting of “Darling” and a light laugh, the Grandmaster was back to normal. Still, as a safeguard: “Apologies.”

Keenly aware of Donovan’s gaze following her, Finley dared step closer, at a typical conversation’s range. She avoided direct eye contact as not to appear challenging, but kept her focus squarely on Donovan as he kept talking. There was that hum again; he and Derg seemed to have a thing for it. At Donovan’s admission he’d essentially been stargazing, Finley’s ears pricked with interest. His eye for the grandiose was quite apparent in his choice of territories; this glowing cave, less so, at least not in a way Finley could understand.

“It’s nice,” she said. It was the best comment she could manage, in all her non-sentimental glory; genuine as it came, if flatly-delivered like many of Finley’s words. “Were you thinking of claiming it?” Maybe Donovan saw something in his idle wanderings that she didn’t.

Little acknowledgment of the apology; it was routine as a “hello” anyways.

Instead Donovan continued his walk, deeper into the cave, and of course Finley followed. What had brought her here indeed. Something like the cave itself, she supposed (or might have were she more metaphorically-inclined); tantalizing on the surface, a draw in its own right, but whether it hid deeper riches worth the journey remained to be seen.

But at face value: no, of course she hadn’t thought Donovan in trouble, and if not for the mischief in his eyes she might have wondered if, light above forbid, she’d offended the leader. Once again, still, safeguards were obligatory. “Of course not.” Then, an actual answer, “Curiosity, really. It’s quite a ways from Redsand.”

It was too empty in these caves, barring whatever lit the ceiling and distant scurries of cavern-dwellers, to be a hotspot for recruits. Surely something else had lured Donovan here. Perhaps he too needed a break. Finley considered adding to her words but decided against it, evidenced only by a quick side glance that could have been assumed a look around. Instead continued following him, silent.

If Donovan saw the encounter as a friendly, innocuous exploration into unknown territory, just for the fun of it, Finley read something else into it entirely. He fell silent after his first question, as if doubting her honesty, and it compelled her to bite her tongue as their travels continued. The cavern’s space drew ever closer, pinching them between ceiling and water again until both were swimming. If there had ever been the slightest chance in hell of Finley stopping to smell the stalactites, it was good as gone now; what would be the point of such exertion if not to gauge her loyalty?

This was a test, she concluded. And she would not fail, questions be damned.

As if proving Finley’s read, Donovan commanded her to wait before his dive at what first seemed to be a dead end. Underwater he went, their exit unclear from Finley’s vantage—but supposedly, he found away. He was oddly quiet now, the softest Finley had ever heard his voice—and even so, challenging her to trust him.

She was in no rush to call herself an expert swimmer, but the journey thus far hadn’t been particularly harrowing. And what benefit would Donovan have drowning her here, when she’d done him no wrong but entertain clamped-up doubt? With a deep breath, Finley stepped forward til her head dipped below, and onward she followed.

Sure enough, more blue light took them down a submerged tunnel. This swim seemed longer than the first, and when the ceiling finally gave way Finley rose at the first opportunity. A deep inhale revealed the scent of plants—in a cave? Had they reached open land?

Donovan had surpassed her by a few feet during the swim, his bulky form treading water with ease. Meanwhile, by the time Finley’s paws scraped rock again, she was hoping profusely that their way out wouldn’t involve retracing their steps—er, swim.

Alas they’d reached another cavern, this one illuminated by a cave-in. She regarded the floral sanctuary with little more bravado than she’d afforded the first cave; of greater concern was the drag of her wet fur. After a good full-body shake, Finley regarded Donovan with a dip of her head. Made it.

“These look useful,” she said, a breathy almost-pant betraying her exhaustion. Any moment now she anticipated the return of Donovan’s usual bravado; maybe he could start with their find, and not his superior swimming ability. Finley knew little of herbal remedies beyond the fact of their existence, and she’d have no objection if he cared to brag about his own medical know-how.

On Donovan walked, entranced by the plants as though their mere sight had an addictive hold. Baptiste? The name was unfamiliar but from context alone Finley could tell he was a healer. Not a bad addition to their ranks—

Donovan’s next question took her entirely off-guard. Where in hell had he gotten that idea? They hadn’t spoken proper since Ravensblood; it felt like a lifetime ago but Finley vaguely recalled a related tease, something about him being annoying and her joking in turn. Had she a tad more self-awareness she might have realized her defensive, tight-lipped guard was held around everyone, especially leadership, and this may have given Donovan the… impression.

Whether it was the wrong impression, Finley couldn’t honestly say. She shook her head nonetheless. “If anything, you’ve given me the invitation to do the opposite.” His demeanor gave away nothing but genuine curiosity. “Talking back to one’s leader would be a fool’s errand.” The statement came as flatly as she’d remarked on the plants: obvious, far as Finley was concerned, and nothing remarkable.

The… group of leaders? But it made more sense on explanation: those who would snap at the slightest provocation, who had no tolerance for dissent. Finley wouldn’t have considered such wolves leaders in the first place, on principle. Wolves like that sought only to fuel their egos, wayward pups who teethed on their so-called packmates.

“I’ll rip you apart like I did the last girl stupid enough to disrespect me.”

Finley held her tongue.

Donovan bounded forward, snapping her, quite literally, out of her trance. On instinct Finley dropped to a defensive crouch. But his sopping shoulder hit empty air and off he was, running deeper into the cave with that curled tail high. Like a pup. Like Derg.

The Grandmaster wanted to play, deep in an unknown cave, when—unless a way out could be found ahead—such energy was better reserved for the swim back. On the way to the Gorge, Finley had caved to the clearing of the air. But there was no such need here, far as she was concerned.

If Donovan wanted honesty… well, better offered now when he’d gallivanted away; if he turned on her from this distance, she had an advantage. Though she followed briskly, just enough to show she hadn’t given up, Finley was in no rush. “What’s the point of this?” she called out. “Trying to map the caverns?” An awfully late start if so, considering his labyrinthian path in.

For better or for worse, Donovan would follow up on his promised lack of retorts; point blank, there was no point. Sure, they’d found herbs, but it was just a bonus. It seemed Donovan would have been happy if he’d found nothing at all.

It explained how he’d known the canyons as a point of settlement despite the distance. And, perhaps, how he’d picked up so many wolves in so little time; if he looked at every new encounter and discovery as an opportunity, regardless of pre-venture planning….

Finley shook her head. The moment she looked back towards the hybrid he was soaring over a gap in the ground, having run even further ahead. “Jump!” Ah, yes. More completely useless exertion.

She took her time catching up, pausing only as the precipice came near. It was a sizable gap indeed; Donovan’s running start, however unintentional, must have given him an advantage. Finley, however, was less sure of her gorge-crossing abilities, even with a head start. Swimming could be useful; abyss-crossing, less so, at least not in the woodlands she normally called something-resembling-home.

Another test, then. One she was less eager to take.

“You don’t know the way out,” she said, a statement more than a question, and looking squarely back at her leader. At least the gap gave Finley free reign to speak, or so it felt. Horrifically tempting, really; Donovan could easily follow up on whatever she said once they returned to Redsand. “The way out” echoed down the cavern, swallowed by the darkness.

Donovan liked to live on the edge, didn’t he? He showed little concern for Finley’s words, instead turning around and goading her with his eternal smile. Adventure? Was that what this aimless exploration was about? For a nomad by birth and loner by exile, the call of the wild had never particularly appealed to Finley. Travel could be a fact of life, but where Helios followed the sun as their guiding light, Donovan followed… what. His ego?

Irritation surged; it must have been the puppy-dog eyes.

With a dismissive flick of an ear, Finley gave a slight nod back towards the direction they’d come in. “Can’t say adventure has the same hold on me.” If he found caves so interesting, why not move into one? The Saints’ dens in Ravensblood certainly had a cavernous quality; idly Finley wondered if they’d already been reoccupied.

After a pause: “I’m sure you’d make it out without me, no?” Again a statement-question, with only the slightest head tilt nudging it towards the latter. Not a direct answer; not the full truth. Donovan could do what he pleased, with or without her.

In all the time Finley had known Donovan—which frankly wasn’t much—she’d seen his demeanor change little. No surprise, then, when he leaped effortlessly back over the ravine, humming and teasing. Back to the tunnel with him it was, then.

With a respectful dip of her head, Finley turned tail and followed Donovan back towards the tunnels. It’d be interesting to see how he handled the winding trails leading in; if in doubt, he had a fresher path to follow now.