Moonspear run away

Tiuttuk filed “collar” in the cabinet in the back of her mind, suppressing a small shudder at its association with the beasts. It was an apt word for the image her mind conjured. Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on how one looked at it—Haedwig’s frank words chased it away. Pie stared, then swallowed.

Quail had been a strange creature, though she didn’t deserve such an awful fate. Before Treepie could think of what to say, Haedwig announced her need for rest. Almost instinctively, the yearling backed up a few steps, acknowledging the elder’s dismissal.

Rest well, she said simply, dipping her snout before swiveling and departing.

She glanced back over her shoulder once, then faced forward, her brow knitting. Surely Quail wasn’t the dog living on the mount, so who were they? Haedwig clearly didn’t approve, not to mention her certainty that a dog could not survive the wilderness. Pie pondered this for a moment as she strode away. She considered seeking out answers, though her social battery was officially drained.

Instead, she set that aside as her mind quickly turned to her resurfacing memories. Tiuttuk sought someplace quiet to settle down and concentrate, already bracing herself for the pressure headache she could feel building at the base of her skull.