Blackfeather Woods I just needed a little off the top.

Titmouse slunk after the retreating figure of Tegan for a few feet, watching him, making sure he found his way for the first little bit. He wasn't going to aid him nor stop any wolves if they chose to give chase; and when he finally vanished among the darkness of the trees, the boy's limbs gave way to trembling and he collapsed. His stomach churned, he dry heaved, and then he was left to sit there for a handful of minutes longer, breathing the familiar air of Blackfeather Woods as his concussion rooted him to the spot.

In time, he'd rise. He'd look to the blue-black shadows, watching them as if for the first time. The trees moaned over him. The crows and ravens watched from their roosts, spying upon the broken boy that had finally, fully, returned to them. Titmouse remembered Wolfskull Cave, Cassiopeia — how afraid he had been — but he also thought of Maegi, of home, of the altar and Relmyna and the stone —

—and then he looked down, looking at the forgotten shard of stone that had found a home in his face. He bent over it, then rose, and turned, and stalked off through the trees. Overhead a blue-black shape separated from the shadows; it picked the rock out of the grass, and without a sound Blue gave chase to the ghost.