Sawtooth Spire And I bet right now you're probably thinking that

since this takes place after this thread, being vague about some things!

a cold, dreich may morning. the greensward of their yard and the trees that bowered it were moreso dislimned by the gloom-ridden clouds, still wet from an overnight drizzle. 
phaedra was uncharacteristically quiet as the three pups departed from their den for the last time, wearing an expression—conceivably inspired by the weather—enswathed by a bland listlessness, eyes still like a millpond as she reminisced about the heart-stirring dream she’d been loathly transported from by wylla’s loud clucking. 
phaedra was a portraiture of mixed media—outwardly she did not flinch at the revelation that they would not be returning to the only home they had known for her erstwhile forever, restraining her brows from knitting with with a rapid blink. inwardly, her heart opened up the throttle and preemptive homesickness suddenly fender-bent her adventurous spirit, leaving two smoldering vehicles to be towed away with everything she once knew. 
the lamb did her best to summon up an affect that passed muster for “not drawing attention or concern”, smiling a smile that did not reach her eyes.
”if there's anything you want to take with you, make sure you grab it.” her mother's advisement first passed her by with indifference. there was not a thing she could think of she wanted to take, her mind was too detached to make allowance for the finer feelings of object sentimentalism. 

~

with a great suddenness she gasped to remember her garden and at once wanted to cry. her fairy-circle. her peach tree with the fallen, juicy fruits she wrestled from ants. the abundance of fox-plums she gorged on until her tummy was fit to burst. so many days she played there, alone; some nights finding herself sneaking there just for the comfort of its imagined magick. her eyes spilt tears, but before anyone might see, she turned cheek and moved away from the rest of the group to somewhere unseen. 
after a private rendition of cry-me-a-river, she returned with the dandelions stag had procured for her over the days clutched in the glove of her maw; eyes slightly dewy but otherwise belying nothing of her acquiescence regarding their departure that sunless morning.
by the time she had arrived back, astraeus was mid-emotional haemorrhage, waxing hysterical about being displaced or something or other. phaedra glanced towards her mother hoping her expression would provide some sort of pretext for this tantrum, but there was nothing there to suggest she’d threatened the boy with being jettisoned. not that she’d mind it; he’d been nothing but a dirty rotten and fractious child … as they all oftentimes were, but this outburst, foot stomping and all, was an arrow from the blue, and unbecoming of someone who thought himself as imperial as the constellations. 
sparing him a brief but judgmental look, the girl slunk away to be alone until they were all set, half-hearing what mahler had to say of the situation. his nudge met her flank. she turned her head only slightly in response, giving him the edge of her crucifying stare, before pressing on and slumping against the wet trunk of a tree.