Bramblepoint sleep, little darling; do not cry

There was a restlessness within her that spurred her on faster than she intended to travel—as if a deeper, more base instinct knew she would need to be swift to reach her destination. She skirted the edge of the mountains, treaded carefully along the boundary of the desert highlands.

And her thirst grew.

A desperate longing rose up within her as the caldera of Brecheliant rose above the horizon. All she wanted was to see her family again—greet Maia, see how many children she and Eljay now had. Ask after her younger half-siblings.

Lilitu knew, though, the specter of death she could bring to their door. She was too much a danger.

Goodbye, she thought mournfully, as the silver shadow slipped into the cover of Bramblepoint and away from the pack's territory.

She pressed on heedlessly through the brush, brambles raking at her shoulders and flanks. She was looking for water, water. . .and perhaps poppy flowers, too. The latter would be a bonus; the former, crucial.

Her vision swam as she went on, mouth unbearably dry despite the foam beginning to gather at the corners of her lips.