Phoenix Maplewood 'you were,' my dear, is the saddest sentence left to say

A deafening silence fell in the wake of the commander's declaration of war. Wildfire fidgeted, heart still racing. She glanced at the wolves gathered behind them, then to Thuringwethil, then back at the woods. She was just going to propose that she call out for Saena herself when the Heda began issuing instructions. If the wolves of the maple wood would not come to them, Drageda would go and find them. Wildfire swallowed.

When Thuringwethil spoke to her, the yearling immediately pressed closer, her choice clear. She blinked her amber eyes at the wolf who must be Dio, then steadied herself with a breath and finally let herself wonder, Are they even here? Wildfire still didn't know all the particulars, yet maybe Saena's wolves had known this was coming and left. It seemed ludicrous—Saena didn't seem the type to pack up and run—but as the larger group branched off and weaved into the woods, it quickly became clear that nobody was home.

Although that raised giant question marks in her brain—was Saena okay? And what about her newborn pups?—Wildfire felt a giant sense of relief wash over her. They wouldn't have to wage war. It was selfish and cowardly, perhaps, but she was glad it had worked out this way. She wouldn't have to fight her own sister, nor watch as her new pack quite likely slaughtered her nieces and nephews. That thought sent a shudder through her, from the nape of her neck to the very tip of her black tail.

"Thur," she said after a great while, "I don't think they're here."