Stone Circle Woulda been gone like a wayward wind

Again, two wolves fought against each other in the back of Grayday's mind, the pit of his stomach, the marrow of his bones. You have to leave her, this has to stop, one was screaming, and the other snarled back that he couldn't, that he had loved her for days and weeks and cycles of the moon. For seasons he had loved her, and he would love her for years to come.

Because she was coming with. She'd chosen him.

Something joyous and ugly writhed in the beta's gut. His heart seemed to pound right against his throat as he swallowed back a victorious shout. His face twisted through triumph and grief, worry and fear, uncertainty and solemn acceptance. A thousand thoughts and a thousand emotions that all flashed by too quickly for the eye to follow - he'd learned too well to play his card close, to keep his face set.

"We'll come back, greeneyes," he said to her, knowing that this would weigh most heavily on her mind. His expression settled into a small, resigned smile. It hurt him to see her hesitance; his every instinct told him to relent and think things over. Tell her that he wouldn't leave, that they'd stay here, together.

But he pushed that back. The wolf he thought he'd been whined in submission, too tired to fight back any longer.