What was it Briar longed after, searched for, ached over? There was no face she pictured in the dark of night when her paws took her to new lands, no voice that guided her through the suffocating shadows, not even the warm embrace of a ghost barely remembered. It just just Thorn's rasping caw and the wind of the wide open world whistling in her ears as she searched for her next high. That's all there seemed to be in a world made of lost dreams and heartache hidden behind venom; the hair-raising, blood-lusting, intrinsic, visceral need to get her heart racing as fast as it could before it gave out. Adrenaline setting her aflame from the inside out, it was a curse she'd enjoyed since the day she was born, a curse she suspected she inherited --like so many other intangible shadows-- from her hellfire sire. Chasing that warmth, it was all that had ever driven her. She'd never felt more at home than the short moments in which she could bask in the feeling that she was doing something right; nothing, no herb or being or place, had ever offered her that same sense of strength, of euphoria.

For a while, having even the smallest of purposes was nice. She didn't enjoy being her dam's little errand girl, but when being helpful meant going to see her brothers or harassing a pack somewhere, well, it was hard to say no. Now... Ophelia was gone. Briar would find her again, she was sure. None of the Deadwood demons were ever gone forever. One day, a scent trail would pop back up, or Thorn would pull her off-course with a welcoming song. But Cedar and Calyx had their own life now, she didn't know where any others were, Aktaion or Deadwood alike.... and she didn't know what to do. Solving Cypress' murder had been Ophelia's mission, it wasn't Briar's. She barely understood the complicated emotions around her crimson sire's death, and she wasn't going to throw herself into a suicide mission for the memory of a man she had barely liked but loved dearly.

She skulked in some random direction, tail kinked over her back and ears laying against her neck. Deep in unwanted thoughts and features twisted, she didn't hear Thorn's first caw of warning; the suspicious, low tone heralding a stranger. He continued to flap a few lengths ahead from his place above her, but wheeled about to dive down with a sharper caw. His landing was brutal, talons sinking into the loose flesh of her shoulders and prompting a snarl.

"You feathered bat," she hissed crossly, but there was a fondness behind her harsh tone. He'd scared her enough to get her heart racing good and properly, and immediately, her mood lightened despite the blood soaking into her back. He repeated the insistent, almost worried caw, and her head finally lifted to survey her surroundings. What the hell did he see? It was wide open moors, a sage thicket, and nothi-- oh.

A dual-colored face peered above it.

Briar just stared, too off-guard to be snarky first.