Hushed Willows You don't wanna know what I know (that you're leaving)

Reverie had been subdued since that terrible morning when @Boone had spoken so harshly to her. She busied herself with their den, with her recovery, with her daughter and their future; not quite distant but quieter, contemplative. Guilt kept her awake at night, tucked in Boone's arms, wondering if she would be able to be the wife he needed — or if she would drive him away, too.

She was attentive to him when he was near; distracted by thoughts of him when he was not. It was this preoccupation that she blamed when, one evening, Reverie realized all at once that it had been too long since the last time she'd seen her daughter. She hadn't seen her since the night before. At first she tried to swallow the surge of panic, searching through the territory idly. But all her scent trails had turned stale, and soon the fear could not be stifled.

When she finally found the trail that led out of the territory, Reverie burst into frantic tears. She paced along the outskirts of the willows for a few moments, then called for @Blossom. If she was near, surely she would hear it and come. Minutes passed, and she called again. If she didn't answer — well, Reverie didn't know what she would do. Find Boone, start the search; yet she was overcome with the feeling that something terrible had happened. Blossom was lost. Blossom was hurt. Blossom was leaving her. Or — or suppose Lestan had found her and finally made good on his threat to take her away?

Reverie was distraught.