By the Leaders' highest graces, he had been granted re-entry into Willow Ridge. Rowan, though never boisterous, was none the less humbled by the act of forgiveness. He had vowed a thousand times in the last day since his return that he'd never let the ghosts of his past sweep him off his feet once more. But though it made his heart heavy with hypocrisy, Rowan could not help but get stuck on the vaguely Attaya scent that still hung around everywhere he went. And he could not help but trot along after it, one dark paw in front of the other like an automaton beneath the moonlight.

Rowan lamented the paranoia of his past that, it seemed, had stuck its ragged claws into his skin and refused to tear away no matter how hard he shook his pelt. Now it was especially cruel, his hallucination close to a stinging reality. The scent that intrigued him increased and decreased in strength the same way a path would, and blew around with the gusts of incoming winter wind. Everything about it felt similar to tracking prey, not like the warbly mystique attributed to the smells of fever dreams. He shut his eyes tight and tried to clear his head, but the scent simply would not be deterred. His dull gold eyes opened into mere slivers as he narrowed them toward the night sky, the notion of truth harping at him. The stars were strangely bright tonight, glistening with possibility, but he turned down their promises and continued to look after the trail.

But he could not be told it was true. No way was that faintly Attaya scent attributable to anything but his sore heart. And if, by the tiniest, slightest, puppy-hair of a chance that there was someone else who could bear such a claim in their coat, well, Rowan would have to see it to believe it.

It seemed as though the colder the season became, less and less did she get to enjoy a full day's sunshine or a clear night's starlight. Tonight, however, the sky was dark ─ with not but a few, lonely silver clouds to dapple it here and there ─ and for whatever reason the golden-eyed girl found herself perusing the hills of the Ridge with a meager wanderlust.

Winter had not been as unforgiving as the only other she'd lived through, and yet she despised it nonetheless. Gone were the days where she could lay in summer's swaying summer grasses, or crunch through autumn's fallen leaves, which were sometimes as colorful as its sunsets. The stark chill in the air and the way it filled her lungs with what felt like ice reminded her of worse days; wondering about her family as she and Cinder roamed Cut Rock River like sable ghosts, the apathy that had once shone in a brightly-dull sort of way in her sister's eyes, or what it had felt like to have parted ways with her sister and to say her goodbyes to the cedar forest before she'd seen spring replace the previous winter's ugly snows. Yes, there was no denying that winter was not for her, but at least this year she was in a better place ─ in her heart and in her mind, and physically, too. She had @Rook now, her light in the dark. She had @Elettra, who was as much a mother to her as she could ever hope for. And she had @Cinder, which she counted among her most precious blessings. Not only that, but she'd settled quite comfortably into life at Willow Ridge.

There was only one thing that was missing now (Well. Four things, if she resigned to count Kade, Ava, and Mace among what was lost.). @Rowan . Elettra had informed Quil when she'd first arrived that her brother and favored (though she and Cinder were as thick as thieves since the flood) sibling lived among their ranks. In the beginning, Quil had made an effort to avoid him, his trails, or anything that reminded her of anything remotely Attaya, because she was scared and she certainly wasn't ready to look into the eyes of someone who she had been so heartbroken to have lost. But...one day her brother's scent had faded, another day it had vanished, and the girl had seemingly forsaken what could have been her last opportunity to reunite with her brother; and that had been weighting heavily on her heart.

Beneath the flickering light of the stars overhead, all of which were shining unusually bright, the silvered yearling slid down the snow-covered surface of steep hill, looking back to observe her treads before crunching her way onward. In the darkness, her amber eyes shone a ghostly silver and her dark coat stood out distinctly against the silver-blue of the icy landscape; anyone who was in earshot would surely be able to see her if they looked. For a time she traveled the perimeter of the borders, and for a time she followed the creek, and it was not until she was just about ready to head back to the den to sleep against a warm body that she caught a whiff of it.

She would recognize it anywhere, though time had made the scent strangely a bit different to her senses. Quil halted dead in her tracks and held her breath, her eyes widening, ears flattening, as she glanced about bewildered. Rowan? She gazed through the trunks of the willow trees. Had he returned? Or was her mind slowed by the cold. Exhaling long and sucking in a sharp breath when she realized she'd run out of air, she took a single, hesitant step forward before pausing again, shifting her weight and perking up to look over her shoulder.

She wanted to call out into the night, but, like a deer in the headlights, or a girl who couldn't believe, she simply stood there. Frozen.