The Bracken Woods tell them God just dropped by to forgive our sins

Just so you know, Cypress is alone and there is no scent of another wolf around.

As rawboned and whittled down as he was, Cypress fostered exceptional disregard toward his own wellbeing; and it was because of this that he met the dog — pair — trio with a curled lip and a seething rumble. Don’t come any closer. A ridge of hackles flickered to life along the length of his spine, particularly prominent across his shoulders where the wild mane of fur grew longest. His baleful brimstone eyes flicked from one form to the other before settling on Oqdis. He didn’t like the feeling of being cornered or surrounded. Elongated ears swiveled about, trying to gauge who else might be waiting to ambush him.

Had they already gotten to Alya?

The very idea struck him with horror. For reasons he couldn’t explain, he knew he’d die without her — but, more importantly, she was meant to live. She was part of the Cerberus, something that the silver-tipped Frostfur had come to regard as practically immortal, and Charon’s daughter. Realizing that most of his weight had subconsciously shifted to his hind limbs in instinctive readiness to retreat, he distributed it more evenly.

“What have you done with her,” he hissed flatly. “Where is she.”