for two weeks germanicus had dithered in the canyon.

having sent wren and akavir over the mountains, back toward the valley of the rising sun, the eagle did not follow.

instead he remained in the place that had been mereo and then another pack. he looked at the changes they had brought. he explored the places he had built, remembering the barracks at its peak, the sound of soldiers wheeling and sparring in the red sand.

he traveled into the rich southlands, seeing how they remained untouched. the canyon was vast and untameable.

through it he searched for any part of fennec's garden, heart wreathed with pain to look at the den of roots they had once shared.

the leaves. he pulled the memory of that night into his mind, the scent of good rich earth, the sound of fennec's voice and the answering murmur of makono.

germanicus laid outside the den and wept silently until he was emptied into sleep.

the next several days were a blur, but at last when he went out from the canyon and toward the lake which pointed into the valley, he knew he must at last tell crowfeather these horrible things.

and then — the eagle saw no reason to live.