Hushed Willows I hate job hunting.

Her excursion had finally come to an end, and Pepper was a little worse-off for it. She did not come parading back to the Keep with her friend in tow, but with her figure slouching in a manner that did not suit her. Defeat reigned supreme across her body; the scent of a freshly killed animal hung about her like a stale perfume, and from her jaws hung a limp old hare, but her eyes were glazed over and she did not have the usual pep to her step. As she slunk carefully along the border of the pack's claim, she wondered if stopping here was worth it at all. Perhaps Stark would be mad for her abandonment — she was mad for it, mad at herself for holding such doubts and for letting her personal desires overrun her duties — and now all she could do was linger close, hoping Stark wouldn't be too hurt. She was back now. She had failed. If anything, he could wield that failure against her, because (in her own mind) she deserved as much.