It was like a drug. Seeing her chased away his demons, made the sun shine a little brighter, made him feel so damn good. He could be himself with her around, could allow the walls to fall ever so slightly. He didn't have to protect himself, just her. He was her guardian, her protector, a friend to cry on. She was his chain binding him to the earth. Though Zephyr tried to ignore the growing feelings he had for Pascal, deep in the back of his mind he knew that she might be the one to save him. To bring him out of the dark hell Blackthorne and Aranck had dragged him into. Of course, he was still too young to really understand the powerful bond that linked him and the pastel girl together. Almost every wolf in Moladion knew about the mysterious imprinting connection. Yet he did not know the full extent of that power. Perhaps when he was a bit older he would figure it all out.

Leaving Diveen, the white wolf wandered through the fields as he made his way back towards the swamp land. The snow underpaw was wet and slushy, signs that winter was quickly drawing to a close as patches of green dared to grow despite the freezing nights. The young adult knew he would need to bathe before stepping foot in Iromar. The last thing he needed was smelling like the pack's sworn enemy. It could put Pascal in danger if Blackthorne knew her connection to his Boneripper. Nothing would stop Zephyr if that lunatic got his grubby paws on her. As the boy neared the river feeding off the nearby lake, he could see the banks had swollen as water flooded into the field. Soon this way would be impassible as the snow melt turned all the rivers into death traps. For now, however, it was still safe and with a groan, Zephyr dove into the freezing waters.

The cold sapped his strength and stole his breath, but it also wiped away any trace of Diveen and Pacal. Swimming to the other side, the boy emerged and quickly shook himself. Several minutes later, the wet wolf stood on the boarders of Iromar staring into that cursed land. His den lay just within and he knew he could tuck himself away for the night and forget about all his woes. The breeze changed direction and the thick, musky scent of Blackthorne smacked him in the face, sending him away with a growl. No, he wasn't going to stay in Iromar tonight.

The grotto proved to be a decent place for a soaking wet and freezing wolf to lay down and sleep for the night. Picking out a particularly small crevasse, Zephyr tucked himself away as he watched the sun starting its decent over the western horizion. Only he head poked out as the fading light turned the sky into an inferno of reds and oranges.