Blackfeather Woods got a bag with a toothbrush and a comb in

dated for the 8th

MOU!!!

The shriek ripped through the trees, echoing through the forest, sending ravens in a mad scatter. It came at the tail end of days of frenzied searching, following trails that came up empty, exploring haunts that were deserted. Of all the emptiness there was to be found in Blackfeather Woods, it had always been full to Maegi, if Mou was here. Whether by her side or within the tunnels, deep below—if he was here, she was complete. She was whole.

But he was gone.

Mou! Maegi yowled, the name breaking on a desperate sob, a banshee wail that rose into the canopy. He was gone, he was gone, without a trace, without word. Even the scents leading away from the woods were faint, ghostlike—and she could not leave her boys for too long. It came down to a choice, and damn him for making her choose!

Mou, she whimpered, collapsing into the center of the Rose Garden, the thorns tugging at her pelt, tearing at her flesh. She curled, shrimplike, into herself, shaking hard from grief, exhaustion, and poppy withdrawal. She would cry, but she had no tears left. . .not after all that had happened.

So she merely trembled, silent, save for the murmurs of his name that came in fractured rhythm, a mantra gone utterly wrong. Her only hope was prayer, and if he did not heed her calls, her pleas, her cries, she knew he was well and truly gone.