Dragoncrest Cliffs Buffany of House Bufflepuff

He was prowling the borders, luckily enough, when Ephraim made his flight. There had been nothing too terribly out of the ordinary, though he had noticed that the boy seemed. . .off, lately. But then, everyone had. Antumbra was dead. That alone was as if Drageda itself had died, and while they lived again, it was not fully. Every breath was a struggle, still; limbs were missing, heart ached.

The holler caught his attention, though, and he whirled around to see the coywolf racing away from the border like a bullet from a gun. And something, something, within him snapped. Eastwood had gone. Artaax had gone. The kru was scattering to the winds, and he wouldn't let another get away.

He had already lost too much.

Ephraim! Vercingetorix bellowed, voice cracking a little in the intensity of his cry. He surged after him, slowly picking up momentum but still lagging behind. The swift young man would always outpace him, though Verx hoped he respected the cheka enough to stop, at least to explain himself.