The Sentinels She plays a thrilling violin, painful and sweet

Leaving the Depths— and to a further extent, her ashen fawn— had been a surprisingly tall hurdle for the pining Furiosa. She was more than used to following her whims before anything else, except on the rare occasion she avowed herself to something, which suddenly meant that her wants could no longer be a part of the equation. This wasn't typically an issue, as generally her given word and underlying desires were mutually exclusive, but that wasn't the case this time around. In the end, parting had been a challenge if she'd ever faced one, and she thought about it as she skirted along the borders of Donnelaith, keeping an eye out for an emissary of the pack. She might've called for attention before, but her mind was clouded still from the previous evening; a day that had bled marvelously into night, eventually into morning.

Her attention turned ahead, resolving to focus on the tasks at hand instead of the pleasure she had needed to abandon. With a glance to the overcast autumn sky, Furiosa tossed her head back and called shortly for an audience.