Ghost Lion Crag darling remember, when you come to me

Yes, he wanted to say. He wanted to learn more from his skilled Beta, maybe crack a joke or two if the situation was right, search high and low for Praimfaya and return to the mountain in the evening, weary but hopeful. He wanted to stand on the alpine heights overlooking the forested foothills and sing out for a spar, wanted to test his mettle against Arcturus' impervious defences, wanted to rise and shine as a Moonspear wolf to be proud of.

But that wasn't Arcturus' life anymore. It wasn't even Dragomir's life anymore. The happy illusion he'd been building of a strong, sturdy pack was shattered and there was nothing he could do to get it back. Even if he tried to go on ignoring it all, pretending Arcturus had left on good terms, pretending there was a happier reason for the man's absence... he could not think of the spire the same way. The slopes would feel colder and more foreboding. All the wolves who had been present, colder and more foreboding. Jarilo and Kukutux, uncaring. Lyra, vindictive. Dirge, resigned.

No, he decided at length, though it tugged sharply on his heart to say it. I need to start my search in the vicinity of Moonspear, and... I don't think you're welcome there anymore. It was an assumption, mind you. He could be totally wrong about that, but what he knew of Moonspear thus far was that they weren't a forgiving lot. Arcturus had burned them badly in response to the way they treated him, and Dragomir couldn't see them just putting it behind them. I wouldn't want you to risk it. Maybe... you could just keep an eye out for her around where you'll be? That would be enough.