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Theory had gotten used to patrolling their spread-out territories. The brisk swim back and forth across the channel between the Ibis Islands and the shores of their other lands had become something she looked forward to. There was something comforting about the repetitive motion of her legs treading water - it gave her time to think. Being alone with her thoughts was slowly getting easier, although she still worried incessantly about her father and the children of the pack. It wasn't the old, all-consuming fear that she had harbored. Rhyme had stabilized... somewhat. Teaching her how to make good use of herbs seemed to ground him.

She was returning from her island patrol, fur still wet, when she heard a cry for help nearby. The plains were familiar territory and it took her no time to pinpoint where the sound was coming from. Theory approached cautiously. It looked like the stranger hadn't had a meal in a long time; he was frail and sickly. Did he carry disease? What would Shaye have done? Abaven wasn't the kind of pack to turn away someone who needed a helping hand. Maybe Rhyme or Octave could help, he certainly looked beyond her healing ken. Theory leaned down and tried to shoulder some of his weight, carrying and dragging him towards a safer and more secluded area. She set him down carefully and settled down nearby, waiting for the stranger to come to.