When called, Portia settled, huffing a bit from her trek over but regaining composure quickly and gracefully. She sat, her tail laying flat at her side and scanned the area for Dio. She found him sitting with their Heda and Wildfire, and curiously tilted her head. She studied him for a moment before focusing onto Thuringwethil, who began to speak.

Her first reaction was to seek out the child and give her an enthusiastic "Spechou," which sat badly on her tongue. She cleared her throat and tried again, going this time for a simple "Congrats, hun," and a bright smile. Drageda's language was not her first, but she tried her damnedest to be one with the pack that had now become her home.  Thuringwethil did not appear to be done, so she waited patiently to be addressed again. 

At the news of her promotion, a congratulations was praised upon the girl, Freyja, and Rebekka is no acceptation. Freya had surprised her; the ability to hunt and learn as well as she did at an age where Rebekka had not expected it. Children, to her, were basically useless until they could serve the pack yet Freyja had far exceeded any expectations the woman had assumed. For once and for other than herself, she felt a sense of pride. This was a daughter of one of her kind and she dipped her head towards the girl briefly, before murmuring a quick “Well odon,” The girl had earned it. While it had been an easy mistake that they had met, Rebekka was sure to see the youthling again and on better terms than the forgetfulness of her name. As others stumbled over words that were not their tongue, she drew her attention away from the girl to Heda herself, awaiting other news besides the welcoming of a handful of newcomers Rebekka would not jump to meet. Some she recognized, other she did not; it did not matter enough to her. Heda was her sole focus, and the woman would await her further instruction like she was meant to. 

Hearing everyone praise Freyja up and down was almost enough to make Eske — whose skin prickled with her natural competitive nature — turn around and walk away. She would have, if not for the smack down stare Gyda gave her. She let out a low huff under her breath, muzzle wrinkling back from her teeth. Freyja deserved the praise, Eske knew. She knew; but that didn't keep the nasty green monster of envy in her from rearing it's ugly head. Freyja was the perfect older sister that everyone adored and was like some princess. Eske did not join in praising her, instead rolling her eyes quietly where she sulked at Gyda's side, ignoring her mother's burning glare at her. Eske was the Grounder Princess and Freyja was not. Eske wanted to fight. She could feel the need bubble and seethe just beneath her skin. If this meeting was just going to be a Freyja Show then Eske wanted nothing to do with it. Surely there was some loner she could go harass somewhere. Which, as far as she was concerned, would be a much better waste of time than this.

The meeting had been set, and were it not for the dark Heda's call, the young child might not have gone. Her limbs carried her quickly toward the setting of their gathering. As she drew closer,  she noted the scents of her siblings and then the other pack members. Pale caramel eyes scoured first, but the news of Freyja's rank whispered through her ears. A cold expression creased her young features. There was pride on her silver sister's face, but Thyri did not see it as being appropriate. Still, the young child kept to the back of the group and held her tongue. She would not publicly remark on such things. Still, the stormchaser did not do well to hide her distaste. 

Portia was so shocked she couldn't even congratulate her friend. Her tail wagged quickly, thumping loudly against the dusty earth. Her ears stood perked straight up and her eyes gleamed with pride-- her friend had moved his way all the way to the top! Though she didn't care for power herself, she understood the luxuries of it-- it was the responsibilities that kept her happy at the bottom. The crowd died down a bit, but Portia's tail still wagged happily at her hips, her lips still curved into a bright smile. 

The Heda beckoned her forward, and for a moment she was confused why. The Skayona had been so focused on Dio she'd almost stopped paying attention. There was a slight moment of confusion that was quickly followed by a pause in her tail wagging and a dip of her head. "Of course," she said, and moved her way to the front gracefully, unaffected by the previous moment of unawareness.

Portia begins as soon as she receives an 'a-okay' from Thuringwethil. She moves swiftly but gracefully, quick but careful in all of her actions. The stone is quickly swiped across the shoulder of their leader, and afterwards the ashes and then the antibiotic. She prodded a few extra times for precaution, but when she'd finished she dipped her head to her leaders-- sneaking a quick glance at the newly pronounced Wocha-- and waited to be dismissed or addressed again. 

The commander moves the topic forward with ease, and soon, it's on him -- his brand new promotion, no less. Wocha. When the time is appropriate, he edges closer to Thuringwethil and Wildfire alike and dips his snout in thanks fleetingly to them each. But with that settled, he assumes a proud place next to them and skims the crowd thoughtfully in the wake of this news. He's eager to grow into the role, and just as the heda said, help cultivate their strength into something even greater. Dio has known no other of the same title, and he intends to do it justice and wear it proudly, effectively, for their cause as the Dragons.

He finds the next subject of a greater curiosity, however, and watches as Portia is invited to join them with a perked expression. He has a vague enough grasp on these cultures and ritual doings, but is interested in seeing it play out himself. The concepts and the history at play here just to start. He's no stranger to that exactly but this twist of the commander's homeland is still new to him. The new wocha is interested in learning more.. 

The loner's death in question was still a fresh enough memory so this was perhaps a fitting bookend to that. Portia made quick, but effective work of it, and in her wake was a new mark on their leader. In reverence of this, he was quiet, but sharply attentive. He understood better than before, and more and more, Drageda sings proudly in him. When it's said and done, Dio doesn't miss her glance his way, and he exchanges with a fond smirk and nod. But he kept it subtle, intending to fill her in with more later and likewise find out more about her thoughts on her involvement in these rituals. He was pleased, though, and happy with these outcomes so far.

The woman watched as the healer carved out the line in Heda's shoulder, though Rebekka did not flinch. It was a custom she had known of, a part of grounder culture in her life since before she could understand it's significance. While some cultures would take no appreciation in their kills, each mark signified a victory and a loss; something that could not be forgotten. And so, a reminder for each life taken was both a display of power and a reminder. She longed for the day her pelt was adorned with the strikes of courage as Thuringwethil presented. Yet, Rebekka was a picky fighter, risking her life only when needed unlike some who looked for trouble just to start it. Perhaps she would never gain the scars of generations of grounder warriors, yet, the fact did not disturb her. It made her want it even more. 

The circle stood silent as the work was done, and Rebekka noticed the few blank faces that would have noticeably paled if they were human. Yet, the woman did not expect any less. They were new, they could not understand the importance to the level she did. But they would. A kind assimilation of sorts was in the works, one that produced many distant and wide gazes and eyes as the grounder culture went about it's ways. It was interesting to observe, the reaction and the differences from one type of life to another, something she never would have paid any attention to pre-Sleeping Dragon,.

Dio was promoted to the leadership tier — a man she was familiar with. Though their time spent together had been short she remembered him well enough. She held no qualms about Heda's judgment. If he did not deserve she would not have bestowed the honor upon him. Eske's interested returned, however, when Thuringwethil spoke of the Grounder tradition of marking for kills and her blood buzzed with unbidden and sudden excitement. The Grounder Princess was far from squeamish and she watched with fascination as Portia ghosted forward to mark Heda's flesh with rough stone. Her pupils widened in their pools of blue-green sea glass as she admired the newest mark to mar Heda's flesh. In a breathless moment she craned her neck to study her own shoulder, untouched as the day she was born. Utterly flawless. Too flawless. She wanted to bear the kill marks, too. She poked her tongue out in concentration as she tried to imagine how much of a badass she would look like if she, too, bore the kill tally. Fiercely, as Eske felt everything, she wanted tally marks just like Heda. Her tongue drew across her jowls as her gaze returned to Heda, eager.