Silver Moraine Dark clouds, dark skies, bad weather

fuck timelines im doin this

if Prophet or Ashlar—or bless her heart, Masque—knew she'd slipped away, they'd be hot on her heels. perhaps they'd still follow, once they noticed. 

for now, though, the red woman is alone, profoundly gravid but thankful to stretch her legs upon the expanse of the plains. she smells deer nearby and yearns to chase them; it's a risk she can't take, though, and even if she wanted to, her added bulk and resulting fatigue would hamper her.

Avicus trots along, tongue lolling. the packed snow is melting. instead of gliding over the surface as in midwinter, she feels it buckle beneath her paws in spots, and there's a moisture on her pads that hadn't been there a moon ago.

spring is coming.

she reaches the edge of the moraine, sides heaving, out of breath. her eyes rake over the rocky, barren landscape of grays and whites and—

Glaukos.

Claw, she calls out. she'd almost missed him, save that he'd landed near a vivid patch of snow and his wolfish figure was distinguishable against it. not a boulder. a boulder of a man.

she ambles quick as she can toward him, belly swinging slightly as she moves.