Alpine Lake the crownless again shall be queen

There was no way for Szymon to tell definitively whether the wolf he looked upon was his sister. Whoever it was locked her eyes as intently upon the Cairn boy as he did her — he had assigned her supposed gender as female based merely on the long legs and slender, feminine frame but could make out little else. She was too far away to really discern the color of her eyes and tucked in shadow as she was, it was impossible to see whether a jagged scar ran its way beneath her otherwise unsullied, unmarked throat. Still, he had a feeling — one that intensified when she did not return his low rumble of greeting and began blaring like a foghorn as she backed away, disappearing into the distant treeline without even a whisper of the branches. She moved like a ghost, lofty and graceful and wholly elusive, and he knew. He knew.

At least, he thought he knew.

Half mad with the isolation brought about by his current lone wolf status and the frenzied need to find his brother, Szymon found himself physically unable to pursue the white wolf. He hesitated as if waiting for something, his scarred limbs trembling, as his golden eyes rolled back into his skull and he slumped into a prone position. Silent as was his wont, within his mind raged a roar of static and high pitched screeching feedback that caused him to paw wildly at his face and ears. Ksenia — here — find Skellige — get up — you — failure failure FAILURE FAILURE FAILURE —

“N-N-N-N — ” he moaned, blindly negating the cackling demons that only he could hear. His jaws chattered with the vehemence of his wild trembling, his limbs locked — and he lost consciousness with a heavy, squelching thump as his head connected harmlessly with the riverbank.