Despite the autumn leaves, her slight form made little sound as she skittered through the free lands, head and tail both low. She did not want to be seen here. To her, the freelands meant nothing but danger. It may not have been winter yet, but the chill on the air meant that it was far too close for comfort. Far too close for her to be without the protection of a pack.

In all her years wandering, she had avoided others. If she watched them from a distance and judged them to mean no harm, she would occasionally approach them, but she usually did not risk it unless they were young. Too young to do to her what the dark wolf had done so many years ago.

She had so many regrets tied to these lands. Going out in winter was one of them. The other, her son, she still could not bring to her mind. She had failed him. She would not think of more than that.

Grey tinted paws led her to the last place she had felt safe, the ocean pack, Glorall. Her paws stopped short right at the edge of the territory, tail tucked between her legs. Nothing smelled the same. She could not smell Tesseract, or Caligula, or d’Mani, Sinopa, or any of the others. Nothing was the same.

A whine filled the back of her throat. She could not call out and announce herself. She had caught his scent briefly in the freelands. That dark male was still out there. What if he heard and was the one to answer her? She lifted up a paw as if to step further into the territory, then placed it back down. She turned her back to the sea air flowing over the packlands, and took a couple steps. But no, she could not be in the freelands. It was a miracle enough she had convinced herself to make the run to Glorall. She did not have it in her heart to leave. And so she paced the same stretch of land, right on the borders of her former home, unable to move forward, unable to turn back. She should never have returned here.

Alana
. female . thirteen years . 29 inches 75 pounds . no mate . no life . Glorall .
. mother of Grendal .