takes place shortly after
this
tiredness dogs her steps, and exhaustion pulls at her limbs. the matriarch wants nothing more than to return to the creek, but is unwilling to cut directly back toward her home. the possibility of being tracked back to all that she holds dear has her cut a wide path back to the stream, pausing not even to attend her stinging wounds.
evening falls all around, sunlight giving way to stretching shadows. she does not expect the border, sudden as it is, and is given pause a moment. wariness prickles, disliking being at the borders of a strange pack. foliage shifts, as does recognition.
the willows. had whatever remained of the once-elysium returned to this place? she considers, before tilting back her muzzle and giving a call to the denizens of this place, a tired call for an audience. tongue presses against the inside of her cheek, testing carefully the sting of the wounds on the opposite side. remaining stub of a tail twitches, and she winces, longing for Artyom's familiar touch when the whole of her seems to hurt. the left side of her face remains bloodied, something she can hardly address now, but the mess that is her shoulder remains within reach. one eye on the treeline, she begins a careful cleaning of the wound.
tiredly, the matriarch twists to regard the woman that approaches, rising stiffly. she is a pretty thing, young, alternating patterns of smoke and charcoal and ivory. she dips her muzzle respectfully, gaze coming to settle on the yearling. this time, she does not move to sway whatever remains of her tail. "I am Dawn, of M-Whitebark Stream." gods, she must really be exhausted. it's a slip of the tongue she hasn't made for months, perhaps even a year.
"I man attacked me [mash] he's done so before, to others, and he smelled of a pack. I think he came from the mountains." her warning, delivered first and foremost, in the very slim chance she forgot to do so, foggy as her thoughts are. "can you tell me what this place is called?" she queries after a beat, unaware how she lightly sways upon her paws.
she nods, relieved that they are not strangers. something tugs at the back of her mind; something Artyom mentioned when Artemis had been returned to them. and whitebark wolves did not seem to be the only ones falling victim to this man and his followers, so it seemed.
her brow furrows, relaxing after a beat. "he called himself donovan azura," she confirms, though it is evident that they are speaking of the same wolf. "I was looking for a packmate, Surya, who's been missing a while. another wolf, dark, called himself Dægmar, helped me fend off donovan." without him, she might have ended up like aphrodite. the thought is like a dagger to the gut, twisting slowly.
she girl was a leader, then, akin to herself. the matriarch hesitates, wanting only to be homeward bound, to run through the night. but, if she is honest, she does not think she'll make it. muzzle tightens, worry gnawing at her heart, of that brute anywhere near her children. "thank you for your kindness, Luminya — I would appreciate it." she can't, won't, stay long, but even as the adrenaline from her flight fades and true pain begins to set in, she knows she'll have to remain for a few hours, at least.
Orlaith was revengeful, it almost seemed the very name of her enemies summoned the flaming wolf. She skulked out of the willows, a spark within her olives that has been remaining from days before. Though she thought there was an intruder, but instead a weakened, and injured wolf. The fae mellowed
"Who this?" Probably rather rude upon asking, but the days of peace were small. She was always on a more guard now then before, especially so the call to war seemed to be near.