Sequoia Coast i am not the only traveler, who has not repaid his debt

of all the wolves missing from the sound, it was kierkegaard's absence the sylph felt most keenly. at first sharp tendrils of betrayal had claimed her emotions -- until arguably the dumbest of the luschyon trio had arrived home and detailed the events that had transpired. any last whisper of good will caiaphas might have harbored towards drageda was keenly sundered -- and when the hours turned into days with no calls heralding kierkegaard's return caiaphas grew fretful. she had spent the last several days out on the fringe, canvassing the coast with heretic fury. they had done this - they had claimed her last friend.

she did not want to believe he was dead, but knew the severe realities of the world. she set to finding him, either alive or dead. it was a grim task and one she endured alone, bitter for it. bitter that the world would eek one last sting of salt in the wounds of her life -- bitter that yet again something valuable to her had been callously plucked from her side like a newborn fawn from its mother.

that particular hour she had just turned back from the tidal flats when a dark figure cut across the sand, drifting towards a sodden object washed ashore. instantly caiaphas' heart was set aflutter and she strode towards the two with a strident expression, fear mounting her throat and stomach -- up until the soggy wretch heaved skyward and a violent plume of bile was spat in the sand. even from this distance she recognized it as kierkegaard and she flung headlong towards him, a snarl cracking her wizened muzzle as she shouldered (r00d!) towards him and threw her muzzle to his cheek. "who did this!" the siren queen hissed, her vehement gaze landing accusingly on the dark child despite her obvious innocence in the crime. wasting no time, caiaphas spun back around and sought to clamp kierkegaard's scruff in her muzzle and drag him well away from the idle threat of the waves.