Dragoncrest Cliffs anger is the more productive cousin of fear

The caller’s voice is unfamiliar to her. There are view voices she can’t recognize right away but it doesn’t slow her from responding because by the time a second howl clears the air, she’s in a full run through the redwood forest. She aims south, and searches for the location as she weaves in and out until she hits the borders. It is only a split second decision to keep going, running until she sees bodies in the distance. Three—no, four—of them. When she sees the dark fur of the one on the ground, her first thought jumps to Robin. Why? It is short-lived as she gets closer, noticing nothing familiar as colors and details begin to focus.

Artaax is covered in blood of a stranger. She looks over to Blixen, then Furi, and back to her son. And there’s Portia, popping around from one side that surprised her. Her mouth opens to speak but she can’t find the words but he’s still standing and the unknown is not.

Thuringwethil stiffens, waiting there in bewildered silence for an answer.