Fox's Glade Lost our gravity, now we're weightless

She felt as though a vital piece of herself, like a limb but even more critical, had been shorn away. Meteora had left as she was bidden— even the shattering of her entire world would not crumble her, would not cause her to lose sense and force her sisters to drag her away from the homeland. Her pride was wounded beyond repair, but its last shreds at least allowed her the dignity to remove herself from the legendary coast, its culture, its protections.

For months she had wandered the earth, listlessly and apart from the Sea— her Mother— without regard to her destination. Not that it mattered; for this was Hell itself, to be banished from all that she knew and held dear. If she wandered, earthbound, until her death— well, that was the fate the Protomedeia had determined for her.

Meteora came to attention as her surroundings became familiar, memories tugging her away from the robotic state she had been functioning in for all this time. And when a young wolf, a spawn came into view, cultural instincts clutched her insides in a deathgrip. But she froze and a snarl died in her throat as Meteora stilled herself, warring against ingrained habits— stealing him would do her no good, for there were no sisters to take him back to, no other consorts to train him.