it's burning through the bloodline

Andalusia pressed a final step upon the rain-touched grass and rested her gaze on the pack land just beyond her reach. With a slow scan she searched the barren horizon for life. Mist shrouded the visibility, but even through the drear she could see the scar in the tree line where the fire had raged. The soft scent of rain filled the land, but her subconscious had her convinced she could smell a choking bite on the air, as if the flames still ate the ground and sky. But so much more than this held her back. A sentry of scents kept her on neutral ground, upon the cusp of her uncle's home, attesting to the occupation still held here. The wolves of the Plateau remained, and she breathed through each in turn. Her mind pried for one alone, and her chest tightened when she found that Mordecai's stood on the frontline.

The Ostrega's body slacked. She hadn't seen her uncle since intercepting Zoratto on this same stretch of borderline, and that had been before the fire broke out. For the first few days she'd considered Mordecai as good as Dhani, dead in an ashen heap and never to be found. The thought had carried her far beyond the reach of the Plateau, but in time she had turned back, thick with the need to know. Another storm almost had her running again, a spinning whirlwind she'd watched from afar. But though flames danced on the horizon, a few days watch confirmed none sought to purchase the Plateau, and despite her nerves, Andalusia set her herself to face her uncle's home again.

Mordecai's scent spoke of life, but stood in abstract existence from the rest of the world. He wasn't truly there, and she wouldn't believe he remained until she saw his face again. Without a stroke of hesitation, for she'd put this off far too long already, Andalusia inclined her head to the sky and lent her voice to the air. @Mordecai would come if he remained. And if he did not, Andalusia would leave and never look back. She'd lost enough to the flames.