The Sentinels burnt at the stake

It seemed like an impossible length of time between her seclusion and the decision that enough was enough. The white woman had spent long enough hiding in the shadows, both mourning the male, blaming herself, and seeing the remainder of her heat through. She hadn't considered that it would be time yet, but, she was old enough now as she had not been in the Quarter - and with luck, too, to already have a pack to shelter her through the course of her struggle. 

Lasher's absence was still too fresh, her mind muddled with thoughts of the male and worries that she had planted in him the seed of death. It had never taken so long before, nor had her abilities manifested in such a way; his death was not her fault and logically she knew so but it still brought her pain. The rains that had lasted had washed away the last lingering scent of him on her, and with it, had left the witch alone. 

She crept along the packlands, worried and feeling as though she was starting over. Lasher had accepted her, claimed her as one of his own, and then abruptly he was gone. She knew that Osprey wouldn't change the culture of their pack, that Lasher's blood and family made up the backbone of the wolves and that they were strong and so was Donnelaith. Still the nagging feeling of change was about her and Rowan wasn't going to ignore it. 

She was driven to move, to do something - to make sure that Lasher's kindness towards her was not in vain. She started with the borders in the early morning to wake her body up, to get her started again.