Images flashed between shared minds.

go. go. GO. GOO.

Behind the bitch, the Dauntless moved. His legs pulled him after his hound at a trot, but with a slight limp. Even with the healing, muscles still needed time to remember their proper function after they were damaged. The warmth of Tallsun was fading as the Orangemoon season set in. The whispers of the season of the Sun God were not over yet, however, and the bugs still moved around to bite and bother. Black ears and a black tail flicked and slapped in an attempt to rid the bugs from Archibald, though it was useless. They were attracted to the sweat that had formed on his body. After the battle, Archibald had moved to Ktulu's side. He had felt worry for her, unlike he had before. But as he stood with the remnants of the Grey--now even more torn by the tests of time--Circe flooded his mind. With Circe, came the memories they shared together, here, in what this land used to be.

And, of course, came other memories.

Memories that spurred the searching of him and his bitch.

We're close.

It's different. It's similar, but it's different. Where is it? Where is she!?

We'll find her.

Callisto. The firstborn. The condemned. The cursed. The stillborn. Flashes of her birth, of her death flanked Archibald's thoughts as he trotted, limping, after his running companion. Loretta's amber eyes searched high and low, brain trying to remember her pawsteps. Archibald's brain tried to remember his hoof steps as well, just as they had fallen so many years before. Three years. She would be beautiful.. The panic was familiar, Archibald and Loretta remembered running after Circe's scent. They remembered watching as the foal fell helpless, limp, lifeless from the womb. Archibald's heart slammed against his chest in slow, deafening bludgeons that threatened to send the life-giving organ straight through bone and skin and muscle and onto the forest floor, still beating and bleeding.

For what seemed like forever, the newly victored Czar and his noble companion searched.

They found nothing.

There was no whisper in trees, no gentle sway in the path. No upturned rocks or fallen branches. Nothing was familiar of that day, of his previous residence here. His body had not bent with the wind and the trails as they snaked through the wood as they once had when they were mountain paths. Nothing gave way to her grave, to where here memorial was bestowed.

Nothing, nothing, nothing.