Dragoncrest Cliffs Buffany of House Bufflepuff

Skipping Vercingetorix at Miryam's request!

As he stalked away from his packmates, Ephraim didn't know if he wanted them to let him go or to bar his way. The simplest thing would be for him to just fade into the wilds from whence he came, equipped now with the means to ensure his own survival, and make his own way in the cruel world. Leave Drageda and all its principles—few of them upheld anymore in his experience since his return—behind. Part of him yearned for a demonstration that he meant something to his pack without Antumbra or Etoille around, though, and that shard of his being hoped he would be stopped.

Except his anguish ran far deeper than that and he was too fragile. When Blixen blocked him and spoke to him in a commanding tone, denying him escape rather than asking him to stay, that part of him drowned itself.

All at once he was back on the battlefield with thunder snarling overhead, and it wasn't Blixen in front of him. It was some nameless enemy with golden fur, the very one he'd gone after when he joined the fighting. The shadows around them weren't shadows, but the writhing bodies of other wolves clashing teeth. Those wolves had no faces, just like when he'd turned on Blackbear; he recognized no one. His heart rate kicked into overdrive and his ears flattened themselves. It wasn't happening again. It couldn't be happening again. But he could smell the blood and taste the fear and knew it was them or him. He didn't want this. He had no choice.

What Blixen would see was Ephraim's eyes widening in absolute terror, his senses fleeing, seconds before he lunged for her face.