Irma had been very right. A traipse across Helovia in winter, with torrents of freezing rain to steal every ounce of warmth from his soul, had not done him much good. The illness he'd more or less cast off had returned full-force, with all the heat of mind and shortness of breath that came with it. And, to make matters worse, his breath rattled like a death-groan through his throat. Still, Mauja was far too dumb and restless to remain in one place, and paced the sanctuary halls like a zombie, unrest itching along his white limbs. The sound of his footfalls rang hollowly along the walls, and the air grew hotter the closer to the entrance he came—a paradox, given that it was here the cold air streamed in, but it met the panels of heart-fire instantly, and warmed. The golden glow churned out from its prison, slow blood coursing through glass veins as the heart pumped and pumped, forever turning in its prison.

He was just about to pass the entrance when a wrathful, vindictive cry rang out. The sound slid like an avalanche down the path, bounded through the empty first room of their haven. His restless pacing ceased, ears playing atop his head, and he slowly turned his head to gaze up at the world outside. Not that he saw much from where he stood, anyway.

Drawn as a moth to harmful flame, Mauja set one frosted hoof and then another on the skyward path, slowly climbing out from safety and warmth into the bitter chill of winter, and the grasp of shadows. The climb was torture, sick-tired plaguing his limbs and every breath a burning-cold gasp through a swollen throat, and when he finally stuck his nose into the outside world, the harsh wind bit through his fur and made him shiver. Damn this weakness. Bleary eyes scanned the shady horizon from his perch halfway out, and there—there in the distance stood someone with an oddly distorted shape.

Friend or foe? If it was the source of the call, he'd bet his tail on foe. Quietly he glanced behind him, down the path. The room seemed a dizzying distance away, a beckoning glow. Still empty. Gritting his teeth, Mauja peered back into the outside world, and the shape. He was tempted to just go back inside, let it be, pass on, but Ampere's words rang through his mind: have we given up so soon? Mauja, unaware, mauled and sick, felt somewhat excused from her brash accusation, but this thing out here didn't seem half-wolf. And Lena, poor sweet Lena trapped in this nightmare along with everyone else, had spoken of healing powers, and of a spring blessed. In his amblings, he'd seen quite a few.

He could lug the monster around the sanctuary until he pushed her into the right one, or someone told him where to go.

"HEY!" he cried, throat raw and thick; the cold air snatched the breath right out of his lungs. "Over here!"

And let's hope to hell I can do this.