Dragoncrest Cliffs But I won't pray, I've made my grave and I'll sleep in it

What he did was foolish. Leaving the safety of Elysium, where Drageda's sentries couldn't capture him and return him to the sands, and heading in his former pack's direction? Utter madness. But Ephraim felt as though he toed the line between sanity and madness these days, still hearing the sounds of teeth clashing in quiet moments, still frightened of shadows. He wondered if they were looking for him, as they hadn't with any other natrona, and his curiosity got the best of him.

It was a lot closer than he thought it was, and his belly dropped with his misgivings. While running it felt like he crossed miles. In truth it was only a few.

He waited in the Tangle for what felt like hours, poised on his toes for any sign of a sentry, and... none. No wolf came by the borders. Perhaps their claim had shrunk inward with Vercingetorix's departure, but that seemed unlikely. The Dragedans were proud wolves, in his experience. He was ready to up and leave, not willing to tempt fate by getting any closer, when a russet-brown wolf appeared in his periphery and crossed into the trees. Any other day, Ephraim would have thought her a newcomer to the pack, but she came from the west, and it was very strange that no others had been by the border by now.

The wiry coywolf slunk from his cover, two steps at a time with a pause to listen and watch for signs of activity. He crept closer and closer to the borders and still no sign of life. When he finally reached them and found that the newest scent was a week old, his stomach truly plummeted. No. This isn't what he'd wanted to happen. He only wanted to get away himself, leave the Dragedans to their ridiculous idea of peace, and find some true peace of his own where his guilty conscience couldn't eat him alive. He didn't expect them to disappear.

The guilt flared along with an acute sense of grief, for although he'd disagreed with them in the end, Ephraim still felt a bond with his former packmates. They'd saved him from certain death out on his own in the world, and he had never repaid them for that. He felt suddenly silly for leaving the way he had, burning every bridge along the way. And the cliffs still felt like home, or as much like home as any place could after being tarnished by a silly fight. It all felt so pointless now. Ephraim turned his attention away from the borders, to the fresh scent that wound into the woods, and his lip twitched into a tentative curl. As he thought, it was her.

He tracked her through the territory, into Hougeda and down through the tunnels. He swallowed the bile threatening to rise in his throat. Vengeance? Seemed like a petty thing to seek now. Drageda was gone and he would never know what happened to them. There was nothing to avenge. Then what? Ephraim didn't know. He didn't know even when he stood in the shadow of the tunnel, looking out at the beach where both Rosalyn and he had been confined in the end, and hoarsely asked, what are you doing here?