Sawtooth Spire dear god: thanks, if you loved me the vegetables would be extinct

There was new life in Sagtannet, though Stag had not yet caught wind of it.

He had noticed, however, that Wylla's scent was conspicuously absent where it usually frequented. Not that Stag would admit to stalking, but he often found himself tracing Wylla's steps around the border. Sometimes, he would even match her step-for-step, placing his paws in awestruck idolatry against the neat imprint her feet had left in the ground.

Of course, his feet were larger than hers -- but metaphorically, they were big pawprints to fill and Stag always took the time to retrace her steps, pretending he was a fearsome fighter too, just out for a quick jaunt around the property.

Today he found her scent, but being an inexpert tracksman, traced it backwards -- all the way to a den where, to his incredulous ears, it sounded like a bunch of cries within. All around him was evidence of Wylla and Mahler's presence -- but a quick glance in either direction, and he didn't see them.

Something about being this close to Wylla's home seemed taboo, but Stag found himself curiously following his long ears towards whatever squeaky voice that was within. "Hello?" He queried timidly, just outside the den's entrace with his limbs folded and body hunched in tense but anticipatory pose.