Blackfeather Woods Just gotta get out, just gotta get right outta here

Not one to rise early, it was by chance that Damien's eyes opened that night, short before sunrise. He stretched his limbs, back and lips after untangling himself from his brother's embrace, gently not to wake him, and then left the warmth of the den to take a piss. But a distant squealing caught his sharp senses, and his spirt was paused to hear better. He confirmed it, there were noises in the forest, and he followed them silently until he made out her silver silhouette, and the tiny bodies marching behind her.

Althaia.

The pups were still too young to take a stroll at such a cold and dangerous hour, and Damien knew that a mother would only risk her children in such way for one reason. This was probably exactly how Malice looked not so long ago, damped in fear and desperation.

Pale eyes locked with the figures, wary not to be seen, and a shadow clung to the mother until they reached the borders of the forest. If she had looked back at that point she would have seen his broad figure, guarding the this line between the safety he'd offered and the risk she'd chosen, but Damien would not stop her. He had been waiting for this moment, predicted long ago. She was only proving him right, she was a coward, a traitor even to her own blood. This was the reason why the Dark Brotherhood needed to breed their own recruits.