Dawnlark Plains Stop, what the hell are you talking about?

The spire of ravens. Now that Wylla glanced back at the mountains, she could see the high ridge he spoke of. Not the fairies' willow-draped domain, but one a little higher up the cliffside. She reckoned it was a good vantage point from which to watch the plains below. She thought to herself that it would also serve to watch for signs of M— no.

She was fooling herself. He wasn't going to come after her. He didn't care what became of her.

Swallowing thickly, Wylla nodded her assent. You'll hear from me soon. It would be prudent to retrace her steps and find Stag as soon as possible to discuss the matter, but she'd already impulsively decided that she was going to go to the mountains. Not to Stjornuati's home, but to a secluded and shaded hollow where she'd once allowed herself to feel content and where she thought might put a demon or two to rest. The thought of taking a single step back in the direction of Nova Peak right now put a sickening weight in her belly. Stag would just have to find her there—if Kigipigak did not find him first.

Thank you, she said at last, giving the cream-furred man a meaningful dip of her head and a wan smile that could not reach the darkness in her eyes, before she bent to grasp her cedar scrap and move on.