Beltane had heard the call and the commotion - a festival they said and Avery had been proud to announce that all in Iromar were welcome to attend. Invited, she had said, could volunteer if they wished. But what of Beltane? She understood her place, after all, as a former-follower of the Darkbringer, her intentions no clearer than mud to others who did not know her. And so, she did not find it pertinent to attend lest she cast any suspicions over Iromar or their new leader. It did not bother her, of course. There was always something else to do, other voices to listen to, other ears to speak into. The fact that many of Moladion's wolves gathered in the forests made her time alone all the more valuable for she heard no other voices besides those that whispered into her deadened ear. There was comfort in being utterly alone, after all.
The Crags had always been a place of intrigue; the way the stone buckled and twisted into itself, the deep caverns that crept down into the earth...ah, how could she deny it? Since the night the moon had turned red, she had felt different and now, she wondered if she might find the answer to why somewhere closer to earth.
And so with the click-clack of dark nails, she hobbled along the upper ledges of the crags in her usual posture: one ear back, one ear forward, her eyes drifting like petals from one place to another, never tired enough to rest on any one thing. It was only when the sight of another wolf caught her attention that they seemed to focus on reality, her paws immediately stopping - mid-stride and all - as her head jerked to a tilt. Beltane was above, ever so slightly, and suddenly beside the other before she knew it, their rocky paths twisting together further along the crags. Where was the young wolf going?