In the distance, he can still see the place where Razvan had fallen, marked by the single dead, claw-shaped tree. There's nothing there now: the night his beta had died, after the herd had dissipated to rest and Debonaire had left, Canta had returned to the body in the shadowy cloak of midnight and dragged it out to sea. His neck still aches from the effort, days after, but in the stark light of day, he's glad he did it. He's not sure how much any of them could stand watching a beloved herd member's carcass get torn to bits by vultures.

No one's asked him how the body mysteriously disappeared yet, but he isn't concerned. No doubt one or two saw him do it, and word spread, or else they figured it out. With Razvan gone for good and Dany back, a weary sense of peace has finally descended over his family.

It still feels as if something's missing, though, and Encantador isn't sure what. It isn't the lack of food, drink, or shelter: he's used to that. He long ago learned how to dig for water when times were rough, and that he could go for weeks without something to eat if need be. No, it's something else... but what? His dark eyes are trained out at sea, his hooves resting in the damp sand as he stand still on the coast, letting the waves lap at his feet. The ocean's always reminded him of the harbor, his first home, and Encantador soon finds himself thinking of his sire.

El Barroco had always seemed to hold the answers, even if he hadn't known them himself.