Fox's Glade Give my gun away when it's loaded

When certain that her heat had come to an end, Durnehviir made a quiet departure. The tension that hung over and surrounded Swiftcurrent's wolves was suffocating - enough to drive the dragoness from the home she'd longed to return to and into the wilds that tempted her with a sense of freedom, if only for a little while.

She'd stayed close to Constantine throughout the cycle and while she basked in his attention, she took note of how he seemed to hold her at a distance. Durnehviir often wondered if his thoughts might be of Aria instead, if he intended to sire a litter by her when her own time came, and the longer she dwelled the more bitter she felt.

She knew her mistrust of Constantine's pale companion was without evidence, that the feeling was roused purely from her gut, and dwelled on the unfairness of it all. Her uncle had taught her to rely on no one but herself, to pay attention to her own heart, but she was torn between trusting her own intuition and the word of who was once her mate.

The crimson she-wolf padded through the frosted glade with no destination in mind, and the sight of a pale form drew her attention away from her own troubled thoughts. There was a fleeting moment of hope that fluttered to life in her abdomen; had Viinturuth saw sense and come home to them? It was short-lived, however, as she moved closer to discover the broken wolf's pelt to be void of her son's silver mane.

"Hey," Durnehviir greeted gently, offering a soft sweep of her tail to indicate that her approach was a friendly one.