Phoenix Maplewood and make Death proud to take us

He moved with the storm that had come rolling in from sea; the clouds overhead seemed true to represent the tumultuous mood of the ferine wolf traveling beneath it. He felt a kinship with downpour, and followed it far inland until he had almost forgotten about the Keep and his entire reason for remaining nearer to the Sunspires. The weather had eased too, the further he traveled— as if to tell him he would find clearer skies away from him unhealthy obsession with the Willows. He would ignore signs like this, however, as he couldn't imagine himself yet giving up on the distant prospect of ever leading that pack again.

The rain had long simplified to a polite drizzle by the time he found himself deep in Maplewood. His only eye would travel unexpectedly towards the skyline, and he realized he was looking at Sleeping Dragon after a long time of heading towards it. The recognition of it and his time spent there came in ungentle waves to the forefront of his mind— and when he saw Thuringwethil at first, he thought he was hallucinating.

Still, he called out to her, just to be sure. "Thuringwethil?"