Sawtooth Spire But the bruises on your ego make you go wild, wild, wild

Since Thade's disappearance, Wylla was forced to adopt a rigid daily schedule: wake up, tend to Phaedra's needs, ensure she was thoroughly distracted by whoever happened to be sitting that day, venture into the lands just bordering Sagtannet in search of her son, return around midday with lunch for Phaedra, do a long circuit of the borders to ensure the presence of a leader never wavered, spend the evening with her daughter. On the nights that Phaedra managed to fall asleep and stay asleep, Wylla still stayed up until the late hours of the morning either crying her heart out or stewing in self-loathing. She avoided @Mahler at all costs.

All this made for a very haggard, very worn down, and very unhappy Eisen. On more than one occasion, she'd considered walking away from everything, if only to spare herself the pain of her continued existence here. She knew when she wasn't wanted—it was a regular feature of her life. By some miracle, she'd stayed put for now, but her trips outside the borders were growing further and longer, and not only because the search for Thade needed to be expanded.

Mid-morning found Wylla among the snowy crags of Sagtannet's highest reaches, surging across a narrow ridge and trying to ignore the way the wind up here cut through her thin fur. Even down in Sagtannet's valley, it was a windy day; here at the peak, it was howling. She narrowed her eyes against a gust, pulling her muzzle down into the thicker fur of her neck and flattening her ears. She was buffeted frighteningly given her spare size, but held her ground. Thade! she called hoarsely when the wind died down.