The Bracken Woods all streams flow into the sea

She was unaware of Spyridon's relief, though she felt it, too; without the scent of salt in her nose, Minthe felt incomplete, and the crystals that usually dusted her coat had long since faded. If they were to encounter another wolf, their heritage would be unknown. She felt wilted and weak. Pride would not allow her to admit it, but until the stream had called to her, a small part of Minthe had been convinced they would die away from the Sea and Her shore. For her soulless body to be given to the earth and not the Mother would be a fate worse than death; it was the Nereides' concept of Hell.

She was still young, not yet a year old, and so her relief was palpable. Her facade of strength and stoicism crumbled as she began her advancement anew. No longer did oaths escape her lips; Minthe was now filled with a joy and an eagerness. The stream told her they were close; or at least, that they had a path toward the Sea. When sands cushioned their paws, it would be a simple journey to the Sound.

She did her best not to look to make sure the consorts followed, though she dared a brief glance over her shoulder. Abraxas did not matter, but Spyridon would be a gift for the Sound's Queen.