Blackfeather Woods what does she think of me?

Over the past days, Maegi had been cataloguing her myriad failures. The most recent of which, Ven—well, no. Venamis had been intractable from the start, she thought; his departure was an inevitability, not a shortfall. It was Sakhmet's disappearance that was the latest blow. Sakhmet, and the last of her hope had gone with the girl.

She was not fit to lead.

She walked through the woods for days, taking in each sight and sound and smell. The Altar, with her sons' remains. The Weeping Meadow, which she loved (and feared) so greatly. The swamps, the trees, the gurgling creek.

Finally, the Nona drew to a stop, paws aching, within the Redgrove. The winter wind whistled through her pelt, lifting the fine pale hair in ghostly fashion. A ghost, she was a ghost; but if things weren't real, they surely would be much better. No, it was reality that had given her pain after pain. The world she had tried to mold for her wolves had crumbled beneath her paws.

Maegi was tearless. She was emotionless. Reduced to a dispassionate counting of her failures.

They deserved better than this husk of a young woman.

Her call rose into the freezing air, a cloud of mist from her muzzle, the words to come lodged at the base of her throat. She howled for @The Ghost, then @Moonshadow, @Rowan and the newly returned @Moonshine (a miracle among the mire), for @Jakoul and @Midar and @Khepri and @Aries and all else who would come —

If they were still here. If they hadn't left for better. She wouldn't blame them if they had.