Wylla clapped her jaws shut to the tune of a cicada chirring, tongue curling against the roof of her mouth as she finished her yawn. It was a stifling morning, a commonality in the valley. Maybe she had become too accustomed to the mountains. Her thin coat wasn't well suited to winters at high altitudes, but the summer heat was bothering her a lot more than it ever used to.
She wove between trees in search of breakfast, but what she found instead was a vaguely familiar red-gold pelt. Wylla froze, gaze boring into the back of a wolf who resembled Taikon so much that her hackles spiked. Mahler had told her he was gone! How could he possibly have allowed this cur to return?
What the hell are you doing here?!
Wylla was pleased that Taikon had the good sense to flatten his ears and crouch. He had every right to be submissive and worried in her presence; the arrogant man had ruined everything about Sagtannet for her with his actions. Her lips parted to reveal her teeth while the guilty party stammered out what sounded like an excuse. Playing dumb, was he?
But if there was one thing Wylla certainly remembered about Taikon, it was his golden eyes meeting hers in the middle of a meeting where all her subordinates could see his disrespect, and this wolf’s eyes were brown.
Wylla wasn’t the sort of wolf who could easily save face by apologizing and admitting her mistakes. It was like pulling teeth just to say she was wrong about something. But her expression froze as it dawned on her that this was not Taikon, but in fact, a stranger with an uncanny likeness. Now that she looked at him more closely, Mateo was more ginger where Taikon had been more blonde …
No apologies were forthcoming, but the shrewd Vierte took a step back and sniffed haughtily. You look exactly like some son of a bitch I once knew,
she accused, as though to somehow make this Mateo’s fault.