Silver Moraine If you must die, sweetheart, die knowing your life was my life's best part

Now that things were settling down on the mountain, Wylla thought it was high time she took a little personal time off. The painful reality of losing an eye made her reluctant to check out Dragoncrest Cliffs again, so she went the other way, descending from the cold stone heights through the pines and down into the sprawling taiga plains to their south.

She walked mindlessly on, allowing her senses to do the surveying for her while her mind wandered, until she arrived at a landscape comprised of broken stones and barren ruts. It had the look of a wide riverbed that lacked a river. Wylla slipped nimbly down into a groove in the earth and lowered her head to sniff. If there had ever been water here, it was a long, long time ago.

Emerging, the charcoal she-wolf picked up her head and ears, scanning her surroundings before selecting a large rock to perch herself precariously on. From here, she could see the silhouette of the Sunspires. On a whim, Wylla lifted her muzzle into the air and howled a long, low note—a hopeless and haunted song for her son, who was oft thought of and dearly missed, even if he was dead.