Grouse Thicket I am not throwing away my shot

His eyes widened and he hitched a step back, muscles taut and motions stiff. Ceara was... gone?

And suddenly, everything made sense. The urgency, the questions, the probing.

Missing. It was like someone knocked the wind right out of his chest, even though he was still breathing, and the world lurched underfoot. Ceara was missing, and before he could think he found himself throttling through the thicket in the vaguest direction of Niamh Blackthorn's voice. He didn't even wonder if he would find her; he remembered their scent, the common thread that tied the Plateau together. If he lost her, he would find that thread. He would follow that thread, and he would find her.

He would find her.

... Ceara was gone.