The air was heavy with fog, scented with evergreens and the ghostly smell of roses. Ban wasn't certain if that was true, or just his nose playing tricks with him, but it smelled so much like home. He had paws on Gilneas again, and this time, he wasn't running away.

All he had to do was make it to Crowley. He flattened his ears against his skull, deftly weaving through the trees. Hopefully there was still a Crowley to make his way to. And Lorna. And… His claws dug deeper at the very idea. They had taken so damned long to return… No, Crowley was invincible. He had to believe that, and turn his mind against the darker, cynical voice deep in his heart. He had to just keep bolting forwards, northward, towards the Wall. Northwards, towards the Forsaken…

A sudden, enveloping smell surrounded him and he locked his joints, sliding on the icing fog coated leaves beneath him. He instinctively blinked his way out of what his mind had barely grasped as a trap, as the ground evaporated beneath him. Worgen. This was a smell he'd never forget, and never forgive. The cures had blunted the Curse's hold upon them, and they smelled differently for it. Their scents were less abrasive, less harsh and consuming… this was the smell of feral worgen. Several of them, a whole running pack of them, and the majority of them were male. Ban was just a lightweight, and an entire pack of feral worgen was about the last thing in the world he wanted to deal with.

He heard a sharp baying rise in the tree line, and he growled, digging in and bolting at full speed. He had to be able to outrun them, he could feel them pressing in behind him, there was no doubling back. The only way out was straight ahead….

Which smelled equally as strongly of feral worgen. Ban switched directions gracefully, bouncing off of a tree, and grazing past the closest of his pursuers. There were so damned many of them, and his own speed had carried him right into the heart of them.

"Damn." He hissed between his fangs, using another particularly bouncy tree to again reorient himself. They'd eventually run him into the ground like this…

"Banastre Russell….halt!" A bellow boomed from the fog, deep, and most certainly not from any feral worgen.

Stunned, he missed the next bounce, and slid gracelessly down the target tree to land on all fours in its shadow. "Crowley?" He demanded, uncertain. Were his ears playing tricks with his nose? It certainly sounded like Crowley, and now, it certainly smelled like him. And, released from the fog…it certainly looked like him…

"Yes, pup. Crowley."

"I….don't understand." That was Crowley, sure as day, striding from the fog towards him. And he wasn't in the Headlands, next to the Wall…but here, just north of the Capital? And he was here, with these….things? Ban was vaguely aware that he was hunkered into a trembling stance, the majority of his weight borne on his rear legs as he shifted back to free his claws…either for swiping or casting…he just wasn't certain which. This all stank of wrong, and a whisper of a growl rose in his throat. Crowley froze when it became audible, tilting his head and pricking his ears.

"Your pup seems to have the measure of you, Crowley." The nearest of the feral pack hissed in a thickened, harsh version of the pack tongue; moving from the fog. He kept a wary distance from Ban, although he gave insult to Crowley. And Crowley was the much more formidable of the two Gilnean worgen. Ban was desperately confused, something had gone terribly wrong. Crowley was miles from where he should be. These were not Gilneans he was with, but those who had brought the curse to Gilneas. Was the cure slipping? Was he a traitor? He'd taken up arms against Genn before, was this the perfect opportunity to bring him down? And the deepest question… was there a way out of this? Crowley was large, but slow. If Ban could get started, build up a good speed… But no, he was hemmed in by all of these monsters. They'd cut him off before he could get truly started.

"Russell will understand." Crowley stated evenly, and Ban truly wished that he did. "What is your news, Russell?"

"Ah….no." There was no way in hell he was going to share the landing plans with Crowley when absolutely none of these made a particle of sense to him.

"No? Weren't you sent by Genn to find me?"

"Yeeessssssss….." Ban wished he could just melt away into the fog, but that was more than beyond his abilities. He could blink, but never could outrun the large feral pack he sensed lurking in the bright mist.

"Then out with it, pup."

A slow, burning unease rose in Ban's soul. "No." He hissed back, and the single visible member of the feral pack, the one who had taunted Crowley, chortled in an all too human manner. "You know my name, Crowley. I am not your pup… in fact; it is rather the other way around. You have a past of being less than loyal to the Crown. You're miles away from where you're supposed to be. And you're consorting with…these." If he was in for a pence, he was in for a guinea, and he indicated the feral worgen with a jut of his muzzle. "And you expect me to give over Genn's message without question?"

The feral worgen's yellow eyes fastened on Crowley, levelly. "Pup has your measure, Crowley."

"Russell. I had to fall back, there was no other choice."

No other choice. From anyone else, Ban could accept that, but Crowley? Never.

"…They had Lorna." Crowley finally managed, and Ban bit his tongue. Lorna? "What would you have done if Sylvanas had Evelyn? How far would you have pulled back to, to keep her safe?"

Ban knew the answer to that. If Evelyn was in danger, and he truly believed that his withdrawal from the field was what was needed to keep her safe, he'd be cooling his heels in the southernmost part of Stranglethorn Vale. As far from Gilneas as he could possibly manage….

"And…these?" That still didn't explain the presence of the feral pack. Were they making certain that Crowley upheld the agreement? A group of eyes to make certain he stayed out of the Headlands? All the more reason to keep the plans to himself, and he could count himself captured if that was the case.

"Our new allies."

"Allies? Crowley, they…" Were to blame for so much. Bram. His father. His mother. His aunt. The lean male worgen stared at him, patiently, and Ban snorted in outright disgust. "They killed my family, damn it! And you have the absolute gall to call them allies! Are you a lunatic?"

"Whatever it takes to retake Gilneas." Crowley growled through locked teeth, "Pup."

"Fine words." The feral chuffed, "Until it's you losing something. We had a chance, Crowley. We could have taken Sylvanas…"

"Lorna is all I have left. Now, tell me what Genn sent you with, pup…" Crowley's growl became the high pitched bawl of an outraged sheep. Ban knew he'd probably never manage to catch him off guard again, and was undoubtedly about to pay for this, dearly, but he'd heard enough.

"For the final time! I am not your pup, Crowley! I made you, not the other way around! And no, until I speak to someone else, I will not give you Genn's message! Lorna has been released?" He prayed that she was, partially because he was truly fond of her, and partially because if she wasn't, Crowley's actions were all suspect.

"Lorna was released, safely." The feral snorted, his eyes constantly moving between Ban and the wandering sheep. "But with that one losing status with our pack leader, and our momentum lost, we've been waiting for any word from Gilneas."

Crowley's immense form flowed out of the sheep, and he glared daggers at Ban. "Lorna is fine." He growled, and Ban could feel his rage building. "Thank you for your concern, Master Russell."

"Then I will give her my message." This was more than Ban had been counting on. He'd considered running into the undead. Orcs. Undead with orcs. Feral worgen. Gilnean resistance. But not…feral worgen with Gilneas's resistance. The very idea set him on a razor edge of doubt.

"I'll go and get her." Crowley vanished back into the bright fog, and Ban warily sat back on his haunches, doing his best to not stare spookily into that obscuring curtain. He knew more than enough…there were at least a dozen around him. They were longer and leaner than the average Gilnean male worgen changed by the cures; they could probably give him a run for his money. And he really didn't want to be torn down here. Or, worse, bitten again. Could he be reinfected? Lose himself, slide back into that darkness?

He heard hooves, and swiveled his head in the direction of the sound. "Russell?" Lorna hailed, riding into the clearing. "My father said you had returned! He also said…" She slid from her saddle, and Ban flattened his ears back. She was geared in a full set of armor, instead of the dress he was accustomed to, and she still had a fading bruise across a cheek. "That you would not give him the King's message?"

"All is well, here?" He asked warily, and she nodded.

"As well as can be. I assume you were told we have pulled back from the Wall…" she colored slightly, "And why?"

"Yes. I am having trouble accepting some of what he tells me, however."

"Your father was being obnoxious." The feral managed in a thickly accented, but perfectly comprehensible, common. "Your pack runner is right to be cautious."

"Of course he is." Lorna wrinkled her nose, staring in the direction that Crowley had not come back from. "His pride is hurt. But, Banastre… you've returned. Surely that means…"

Banastre was not commonly a man of faith. His leanings had been indulging himself…money, food, drink, challenging his mind, chasing those things that appealed. There were priests, and now, druids…for that. But it was foolish to deny a resource…

"Goldrinn?"

"The Bloodfang have allied with Gilneas's pack. Crowley has lost face by retreating from the Wall, it has strained Ivar's regard of him, but they still fight in faith. Lorna is what she was before. They can be trusted."

Lorna looked puzzled when he opened his eyes and focused on her, the feral merely nodded in near respect. "By now, the ships have made landfall over Duskhaven. We bring troops to liberate Gilneas."

She crowed in joy, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Thank the Light, Banastre! Few words are as welcome as those."