When was the right time to call it quits? To throw in the towel and admit this venture to find her son was no longer, indeed, a venture to find her son. At least, not entirely.

Her being away from Saboro had blurred the very definition of time and its passing. The nights were all one era of darkness, feeding into each other with only mild intermissions snatched by the sun. The crickets' luring song one prolonged chorus number, idling slightly as light and warmth claimed certain hours of the day before retreating. Even the birds performed as one, though different actors took on different roles as this figment of time idled on.

It was the air that was different, though. Especially at night.
That's when she found herself most active.

It did not smother or choke. Here it could breathe, free from stagnation and suffocation that seemed all but cultural within the Saboran jungles. Never had she tred a land where her lungs could breathe so liberally. Light and crisp and fresh, everything danced with it. Scents, sights, smells. Maesa took advantage of that, using the dark of night and the air that came with it to track her long lost son. Or so, that's what she told herself now.

This rescue journey, though not dismissed or lost, had taken up a slower pace as the ex-Left Wing found herself deeper and deeper into the unknown. An unknown force tugged at her, just a little further, with each passing thought of turning around and returning. Was it the fear of coming back a failure in her task? Was it some subconscious knowledge of Tessen's nearby whereabouts that propelled her onward? Or was it something deeper, something more shameful and threatening to her pack loyalty? Tick tock, cricket chirp, and a leaf rustling. There was no time to dwell on this when he was out there and she was only here...

... and Saboro is way back there.

Pressing her nose back toward the ground, the female strode through the tall grasses, picking up distant scents of sea salt, so foreign to her. The soil was losing its touch, becoming more fragile, more delicate and broken. Though the night itself was fairly mild, it was the chill of the humid ocean winds carrying themselves inland that threatened a chill. Instead she furrowed her brows and merely rolled her shoulders, flexing her limbs, and continued.

Maesa had never been one to simply give up.
Let alone give up on her children.

Tessen, where are you?