Sawtooth Spire stars are not small or gentle

For days before the move she had fallen into a deep slumber, a deep sadness -- her heart never handled loss well, and certainly it would not handle this one any better. Pale wolf still haunted memory, the vision of them following beast through the valley her fondest inkling of what had been lost to them. Always so reluctant to be called queen. And she had killed the beast in her name, had brought peace to the court for her -- always for her.

Her heart ached the whole way to the spire and when howl finally touched her ears it was as if she was lifted from her sleep. Andromaque followed it and found the rest of the wolves who had come to the spire, a patchwork of court and Diaspora. Old faces, new faces. Familiar and not. She rose her maw to join the chorus, her own howl weakened by how tired she had become, how hopeless -- she knew little of the wolves who led her now. She knew little of anything, only that she was in pain.