She'd done a fine job of keeping to herself.
It wasn't because she wanted to, necessarily, but the coldest season had brought with it more changes than just leaves fallen from the trees and a scenic wonderland blanketed in snow and ice to replace the vibrant autumn. Reyes' departure had hit the Edge like a sledgehammer and effects of it didn't seem to be lost on anyone; in contrast, the residual damage of his absence rippled through the hours of the day like the sort of wave a raindrop caused on the surface of a pond. The damage was strongest in the morning, as if it were forgotten in her dreams at night but stung as deep as it ever had when she opened her eyes and woke to find another day without him there. Woke to remember the pain it had caused. Throughout the day, the damage was tempered by whatever task was at hand at the time - patrol, hunting, scouting, in her case - and by nightfall she was tired enough that it seemed acceptable to be resigned to accept the fact that he hadn't returned, again. At least, until another raindrop fell.
Lyanna had never been exceptionally close to the man, but there was one he'd left behind who she cared for unequivocally, consequently the one of them who had been devastated by all of this...@Askan. She had spent weeks avoiding him. Avoiding the possibility of being the brunt of the outlashes caused certainly by the pain she could only begin to imagine he was feeling. Avoiding the conversation, or lack thereof. Avoiding dealing with the whole shitty thing, she reckoned. But the avoidance weighed so heavy on her heart it felt like she was shouldering a thousand pounds of weight - crushing, smothering, soul-crushing weight - knowing that she could be there to support her greatest friend (perhaps unbeknownst to him) and she wasn't. She wasn't proud of this, and as a matter of fact, she hated it.
So perhaps it was the universe sending her to tally up the score she'd stacked against herself - or perhaps her time of denial had just dwindled to an inevitable end - when she'd crossed a fresh path left by him somewhere among the frozen ferns.
The steady pace she'd kept throughout the day as she'd sought out something to hunt down dwindled to a halt. Her russet ears angled forward at the sound of the Selwyn's awful ruckus, the beating of her heart slowed to next-to-nothing as it ached with a fever in her chest. She gulped, hard, and her brows furrowed together for just a moment as she considered that she and Askan's first encounter since he'd lost Reyes could be the most terrible thing she'd experienced in a long time...Breathing in a long breath and sighing it out with a little here goes nothing, she proceeded to draw near to him with utmost caution.
The sound of a body thumping against a tree trunk welcomed her to the scene where she laid her golden eyes upon his dark form. Seeing him caused her stomach to twist up tightly, her own adrenaline beginning to course in a pulsatile flow through every inch of her. Gods, he looked like shit - not in a physical way, of course, but his suffering registered as clear as day to her, written all over him like a story she knew wasn't to be told. Yet, being covered in blood was always a look that suited him. There wasn't a need to announce herself - it probably would have annoyed him anyway - so, instead, she ambled her way over to the mangled remains of the fox who'd seen its unlucky day, gathered it up by the gnarled scruff of its neck, and proceeded to toss that thing with a mighty whip of her own neck into the trunk of another tree a bit closer to her dark counterpart.
It struck with a thud before hitting the ground with one good bounce before all the noise that was left was the deafening silence of the enormous elephant in the room. With her face cloaked in a stoical mask, her amber eyes finally found Askan's and she felt exactly like it had been far too long since she'd looked into their smoldering, fiery depth. The look about her was humbled, quiet, yet as strong as perhaps she'd ever been seen. She would be strong for him, even if it meant taking whatever beating he might be inclined to dish out.
"Fuck 'em," she breathed, inclining her snout to notion to the body crumpled sidelong to them.