Wren wasn't entirely sure why, but she had gone with the woman @Tauris. Perhaps it was the offer of food for her lurching, desperate stomach; perhaps it was the biting urge to get away from herself.
To talk to someone. Someone that did not know her.
Someone that had not caused her pain.
She is silent for a time before her quivering voice chokes out an I'm sorry.

She offers food. A hare.
Wren takes the nape between her teeth and begins to tear, slowly, meekly. And she does this in silence for a while, a long while, before she stops suddenly with a brewing nausea. It grips her stomach and plants her feet firmly upon the ground.
And she isn't sure why, but she begins to tell this woman everything.
The story from beginning to end; Moss, dead, the child wriggling at her bosom and searching for the warmth that was not to be found. The strange man. Mae. How he'd snapped at her, how he circled Moss's corpse like a vulture. How she struck first; started it. How he sought to finish it. How she hadn't known. How he hadn't stopped.
Gunnar's appearance at the border, demanding she pay for what she had done. Akavir's defense of her. The guilt that tears at her. I am a monster. I do not know my own strength.
And then there was Silvertongue.
She recalls the story of how they met; how a chance upon Riverclan's border blossomed into more; the trips between two lands. How Silvertongue had nursed her to health after the fight. How Germanicus had unravelled her — stolen her, robbed her of a life free from pain, and now she was gone. How she loved her.
You and your people deserve the truth, she mutters then. and that's all of it. And I'm sorry.
There was nothing else left.

I left Swiftcurrent. I'm going to go find her. And then... I don't know.
Because she didn't; she didn't know what would happen to her from here, what she would find in the desert when her feet grace the dry soil. If Silvertongue would be there. If either or both of them would return.
All that she knew was she could not go on wading through uncertain waters any longer, and she had nothing else left to lose.
All I know is that this, this guilt is gonna be the death of me if I don't do something about it. I don't want to burden Swiftcurrent or Kvarsheim any longer. I want — I want peace. Between the two. And I think the only way that can happen is if I leave.
She lets go of the breath that had been held in her aching lungs. Kvarsheim had housed an overseer and a child thief. Their leader had come knocking at Swiftcurrent's borders and had the nerve to call them the violent ones. But it was more complex than that; much moreso than Wren could ever understand. And for her own sanity, she let it go.
Tauris meant no harm. Gunnar, in retrospect, probably hadn't either. And who was she to spew venom in their faces? Who was she to blame anyone but herself when it was her teeth that had started all of it?
Neither pack had place for someone like that; like her. Tauris hadn't known Germanicus's truth, the same way Wren hadn't known Bonario's — but that same logic, of course, did not apply to her in the haze of misery that still held her in its shackles.

Kvarsheim's wrong to right.
Kvarsheim's wrong to right as the grizzled man cast a shadow over her head. Kvarsheim's wrong to right as she had watched Akavir and Arric disintegrate into the madness of stress. Kvarsheim's wrong to right as Wren had stepped from her post as gamma, turned her back on her family; Kvarsheim's wrong to right as the flashing black-and-blue memories of that day upon the mountaintop flooded her.
The switch is flipped.
Tauris was right, as was Akavir. Wren had defended herself, her pack's children, her family. What anyone would have done. She had done her dues, taken her responsibility; and yet that man, that boy, whoever he was, roamed free within the grasslands of the stone circle.
She leans forward in an effort to raise the smoky gaze back toward her, to watch the befallen expression crystallize into sincere remorse. It was not all her fault.
Did you really not know? About Germanicus, and-- and that guy? the question rolls from her earnestly, genuinely; tone suddenly lightening as if they were merely girls gossiping, as if their lives hadn't respectively crumbled before them in the past weeks. Did Gunnar not know?

in that moment, it hits her.
was.
was? wren chokes out amid a small, breathless gasp. oh, tauris, i'm so sorry, i-- i had no idea.
gunnar is gone. gunnar is gone, and one of the last things he had done was vilify her; crucify her. a fair man. she longed to spit it in her face, and yet she could not bring herself to do it; not when the connection is made that the nornir's hoarse voice and glazed eyes came from the crushing weight of grief.
wren can feel herself spinning out. what do you say to someone in this state? she shuffles her weight, lips twitching before they settle into a thin line. i wish i could have seen him the way you do. i don't think he, um, i don't think he ever liked me. not that i blame him.