Dragoncrest Cliffs sheidgeda

The first snow had begun to fall in Trigeda, and she knew it was time. It had been mere months since her departure, but the tutelage among her people had been intense, and she was forced to adapt and to learn, with no time to combat the ever-growing sense of powerlessness she felt. Seregryn would one day take the spot at the top — but her time away had taught her to be patient. Others would lord their power over her but, in time, she would succeed. It was the way of things.

When the order came that she was to return to Drageda, to Thuringwethil's side, and to the great mountain home of her future kingdom, Seregryn did so without hesitation. There was no back-talk, no conniving. She accepted the decree — even accepted the presence of her watcher, Atsula, with silence and calm. Together they would make their way. It was the first time in a while that Seregryn had been given the chance to truly lead, as she was Fos Goufa, and she knew the way.

She had not been this powerful since her travels with Gavriel, who at one time had been her guardian as Atsula was now. Then, the girl had tried her best to outsmart the warrior. She had found ways to place herself on top, to escape his watchful eye, to explore and put herself in danger. This time she kept close to her guardian; the snow was deep in some places and the path obscured in others, and Seregryn refused to fail because of the damnable weather. If anything was going to stop her, it would be the teeth of an enemy — perhaps Gyda, or her awful children.

A burning passion had rooted itself within Seregryn when the pair departed from Trigeda — she fixated upon the image of Gyda in her mind, this other, and wondered often if she still reigned alongside Thuringwethil. In any case, she would not be there for much longer. The pair journeyed for the bulk of the month, watching as winter took its hold on the territories in passing, and when Seregryn found the first marks of Drageda upon the earth, she cast her head back and called for @Thuringwethil. But, after hearing no response for some time and being met by not a soul, Seregryn realized that something had changed.

They were not here.

The wolves — her people — her heda — it was almost too much for the girl to accept.

Had they been overthrown? She skirted the borders, studying scents and checking old haunts; by the time she returned to Atsula's side, she looked positively livid. Something had happened. She had missed her chance to prove her worth, and to overthrow the outsiders that had contaminated Thuringwethil's reign. So, with some goading from Atsula, they had to move on.

There were scents, and paths, and so they picked one and they moved. Further and further the pair went, until they were too exhausted. Seregryn pushed them on until ready to buckle, unafraid of the dangers that winter's descent would present to them. And then, as the forest thinned and the air became rank with the scent of salt, Seregryn pulled her head back again and called out: My heda, where are you?