Qeya River "if only, if only," the woodpecker sighs

As the days went on, Denali was sinking further and further into depression. The prey was beginning to return to Teekon, true, but he had not found the connections he had sought upon his arrival here. The young wolf-dog was sullen, listless, plus he was beginning to become ribby due to the lack of food over the past weeks.

He contemplated death, some nights. A slip of paws on a cliff. . .

Per usual, he was traveling, exploring the lands outside Seadog's meager territory. He found himself close to the volcano, trotting alongside the river, and a voice entered his mind--"You were lucky not to cross paths with my warriors." Denali was quite close to that dark female's lands, yet he realized he cared not. Let said warriors rip him apart.

As if conjured by his thoughts, a black-furred form came into view, and a corner of his mouth curled in wry amusement. Here was that queen of the volcano, walking next to the shore of a lake. He sat on his haunches and stared at her, not bothering to call out, just watching. Perhaps she would come to him. Perhaps she would kill him. Ha.