Sneaking back in was almost harder than sneaking out. She was out of breath, the sheets she had stolen for her makeshift robe dirty and tattered, and the sound of her hoofsteps upon the ground were loud. All too damn loud. It had been easy to remember the patrols of the sentries sent to watch them, to ensure the foreigners in their midst did not try anything, to duck out of her window during a lapse in their watch. Now, having run herself ragged, hugging the shadows of the buildings as she bounded between them and up across the great bridges and walkways of the Whisperwood, through the hishyms that hugged the great oakenhearts and the townships that clung to the bridges, suspended a terrifying distance from the ground with not but the expertly crafted superstructure to support them, she finally made it back.