Ankyra Sound Where's that man who'd throw blankets over my barbed wire?

I don't know much about it, Wylla admitted, leading them through the monolithic sequoias to the cliff's edge where the path down to the sound could be found. After all this time, it felt strange that she still knew exactly where to go. She remembered when she'd first found Lycaon up among these giants, and with a flash of displeasure, remembered him standing next to Nyx when they announced their treason.

Swallowing, Wylla led Stag out of the trees to where the cliffs overlooked the cold sand below and paused there, frowning. Nowadays, the only fondness she held for the place was for the trees. My mom never liked to talk about it much, but the pack was called Saltwinter, and she was held here by a witch. The witch stole my brother when we were born and wanted to steal the rest of us, so my mom managed to get me and my other brother out of here. We actually grew up in a place called Keokuk Glade. It's a lot nicer than here. That was Lusca's re-telling, and Wylla took it as the gospel truth. That Lusca had left Lycaon behind and Caiaphas had raised him was simply inconceivable. Lusca was a rough she-wolf, but Wylla wouldn't believe her mother left a child behind even if Lycaon himself insisted upon it.

I don't know how my mom and deadbeat dad even met while she was here, she shared as she carefully showed Stag the way down the precarious cliffside. Maybe he had been a Saltwinter wolf, and maybe he had run off the moment Lusca discovered she was pregnant. Wylla could conceive of all sorts of fanciful notions about the type of wolf her father had been, and none favoured him in the slightest. This is where I met Mahler. She glanced up at the cold, dark water and recalled their swimming race, then shoved the memory violently aside and put him from her mind. He'd made his choice. When her paws touched the sand and she remembered just how inhospitable the Sound was, Wylla shuddered, and then stilled very suddenly when she spotted a russet figure standing near the yawning mouth of the grotto.

Wait, she murmured to Stag, glaring. That's one of those Rusalka wolves. There was no easy escape route back up to Drageda's former claim, meaning Wylla and Stag stood between Rosalyn and her only way out of here. They had a distinct advantage if the bitch decided to attack, but Wylla hung there, waiting to see what would happen. She'd been aggressive to Rusalka on the belief that Mahler and she were united in wanting the cliffs to stay unclaimed, but now that she (thought she) knew what a duplicitous liar he was, she didn't feel half as much inclined to rail against their claim. Let the ghosts of Drageda haunt them forevermore. It was no business of hers.