and my soul is just a silhouette [pack search party]

If the sisters were born of the sea, then the consorts had been born from the sand. The analogy made sense, if only because the sea was constantly molding the sand, pushing and pulling and making it do whatever it wished. The sea lorded above the sand, and yet it required the shore to keep on living, pulsing, breathing. Without the sand, the sea did not exist. Without the sea, the sand had no purpose.

Caiaphas had called for her followers, and Spyridon had arrived without any hint of objection. It may not have been what the sisters in the south would have done, but how could he know? He was no wolf born from the salty waters. Spyro was a wolf born of sand. “Βασίλισσα.” The single-word greeting was heavy with respect, and Spyro licked her chin in deference.