We interrupt this regularly scheduled travel montage for: Whatever this is!

They had left a few days ago, Crux admittedly wasn't keen on leaving for a trip so shortly after picking up new duties but he'd done his best to impress that seeing his siblings in person was important. He'd also promised Triss that he would be back as soon as he could, that she wasn't to tackle any wedding planning by herself, if only to avoid making her feel like she needed to carry that weight by herself. And then he'd gone and picked up Stratum, who he'd also asked if he wanted to join and then the small caravan, Crux, Stratum and their companions had set out to make their way up north. Crux had said he expected the trip to take a couple weeks. He wasn't keen to push himself or Stratum, Stratum especially. Crux's leg wasn't at a higher risk of breaking the way his brother's was. They were making decent time but not the same speed an able-bodied wolf would.

They had hunkered down for the night in Fern Gulley which Crux was surprised to find carried only the stale scent of the raiders, his mind turning back to his first friend for the first time in a while... That wound was nearly fully healed, twinging dully but now soothed by his relationship with Triss. Still he was glad for a decent place to rest for the night. Except for the tremors. Luckily they weren't around anything that could crush them if it fell but that didn't make it comfortable to have to bear them out. They only slowed, and then stopped, once the sun started to push above the horizon. Horrifyingly, red.

The crimson colour set off something deep, something primal, within Crux. It was like he could feel the heat of the volcano, could feel it burning his flesh, leaving the scar that still marred his throat. Red, had the lava cast a red glow? His logical mind wasn't sure but his emotional mind was certain it had. A panic settled over him and he was doing a poor job of hiding it. He was antsy to get going, feeling something tugging him onward. Once they were ready to go he marched the caravan onward. But their destination had temporarily changed, because those black shapes rising on the horizon... They almost seemed to call to him. It was, a detour. That's what he was telling himself at least. Crux knew what giving into that pull meant, it had left him with a permanent scar last time... And yet, he still did.

"Speech"