The Sunspire Or cannibal vampire anchovies

For her, the borders were something the leaders did, that tyrants-to-be like herself would care for.  Someone in power who didn't care to do so was either weak or lazy, and likely should be removed from their position in exchange for someone more worthy.  Sure, there might be the odd exception once in a blue moon, but for the most part it was a rule of thumb that Treason treated like the law.

The pale devil's head swept low across the ground, searching the far side of the border for signs of visitors before coming back across.  That was when the other appeared on the scene.  She'd smelled him around, but he wasn't one of the original wolves of the pack.  And the last one she knew of that had joined was that guy who was friends with Redshank.  And they all knew how that went.  She regarded him with suspicion, a predatory glance sweeping over him.  The fluffball acted like he owned the place.  Well, not quite -- it was everyday arrogance as far as she could tell.  It might be fun to shatter that later, but for now first thing's first,  Who are you?  Treason wasn't treating him like a trespasser though -- he was just some member she'd never met and thus by default didn't trust.  She was a warrior, not a fluffy noble, and she never shirked her job.