Sinclair had been rather straight forward with his proposal, and she had been inclined to agree with it. Things had been tense in Glorall, though she had not been consciously aware of it. Though she had been given the feeling of trust by Eden, she had never felt that it had been entirely genuine. Somewhere inside him, she knew, he had not forgotten her father and her absolute love for him. That fact alone had surely made Sinclair worry, let alone the unusual company that had flocked to Glorall since his coming to leadership. Sure, some had their positive merits and yet… she hadn’t met one that had made her entirely comfortable.

Still, she had to wait, or at least, she wanted to. In a sense, it felt wrong to leave her family home. She had been born in the crags, perhaps, and yet nothing had felt as right as the sand and the ocean. It had been the best and worst place for her and now, she had to face the reality that was leaving. Sure, they’d be close but… she knew in her heart of hearts that she’d not be able to return. So, she had taken the extra time she needed; she had basked in the sun, played in the sand and scaled the cliffs and outcrops that jutted over the ocean. She had done it all in an effort to have her fill. At night, she had returned to her father’s discarded den, her body curled up in its dusty, worn away innards. It no longer smelt like him, and her mother’s scent had become little more than a faraway memory. She had thought of her siblings and how they had departed so easily – even her father had, though. She was all that had remained. It felt so wrong and yet, it had to be done.

To test her resolve, she had taken to the borders come the morning. Slowly, she paced the outskirts, testing her toes on the very most edges of the world she had come to love. Yet, something felt different. In the breeze, there was something familiar and yet, eerily unknown. The scent reminded her of her youth; it reminded her of her father, her mother, the early days they had spent on the shores. It made her pause for a moment and yet, suddenly, she had loped after the scent, suddenly aware of who it was that she had begun to follow.

“Alana?” She called out, her voice hushed and yet desperate for an answer. Did the female remember her? Cersei had never been close to her, after all, and yet Cersei had known of her through her father. Her father had felt protective of the woman and so, he had let it be known to Cersei that she ought to feel the same way. Pack was family. Forever and always. Or, at least, Cersei liked to believe it. ”Alana? Is it you?” She paused, stiff now as she waited for some response. She did not want to accidentally be chasing ghosts, after all.