) He had spent several days gathering supplies. There was not a real need for this, as Larkspur was more than capable of living as a wolf, but he had the horse to worry about, and believed that the cabin he and Misery had shared would need more to make it habitable in the winter. He had never lived this far north, but he remembered how cold winters in the Khalif had been. Unwilling to spend another shivering in the snow, he had gone to the city. He raided what had not yet been taken by others—holey faux fur jackets, tools to break wood, matches.
These things were piled onto the back of his horse at the end of his excavation. It would be faster traveling this way, and Larkspur had every intention of resettling as soon as he could. His blood still boiled at the idea of the boy-king’s banishment. The further he was away from Dahlia de Mai, the better. With only a vague sense of his destination in mind, the wolf had begun riding north. Several hours later, the midday sun high above, he had reached the borders of a pack he did not recognize. Though wary, he did not deviate his course much, and rode along the border line moving north.
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