Fairspell Meadow shed every skin that no longer fits

My prize. It took her aback, slightly, but then she realized it wasn't completely out of the ordinary. Euron, after all, had collected things—Sobek, too, seemed to be taking after his uncle in that regard. And the artifact did look like something Maegi would bring to her god. Did he have the same inclinations. . .?

Scarab, she repeated, letting herself smile just barely. He looked exhausted to her, like he'd come a long way (and if he smelled of the sea, he must have). Come, Maegi invited, canting her head down a nearby rise. Sit with me for a while. Rest your paws.

If he followed, she would lead him to a small hollow that she'd deemed an impromptu rendezvous place. No trees, but some bushes, shelter from the keening wind. An overhang carved into the rolling landscape, perhaps large enough for two or three wolves to bundle together for warmth. Flowers, or at least the stems. The greenery was dying with the winter.

Maegi eased herself to the ground, laying sphinx-like, her forepaws stretched out before her. Where are you from, Scarab? she asked gently, once he had settled himself.