She was done. With everything. She'd spent months being scared - terrified - of straying too far from Viorel or Archer's side, fearing every shadow and each call beyond their borders. Was it him? Was he still waiting for them? All the bravery of her puppy days had been stolen away in a single moment of naivety.
And she was done.
She loved her bror. She always had, even though their personalities had always been so different. She'd been frustrated and sad that he withdrew and didn't seem to want her around since their mor died. He was scared too, she knew, and she didn't know how to help him. She didn't know how to help herself.
Until now. Because she was done.
"Azzy," she called as she approached the place she thought him mostly likely to be hiding out. "Jeg drar. Kom med meg." (I'm leaving. Come with me.)