Damien had returned, after weeks of disappearance. The malevolent woman would not surrender her title. Becoming Dark Master, Head of the Dark Brotherhood sect within the Teekon Wilds was an earning, something that she had rightfully taken up. Once before had she conquered the boy-king, and she would do so again. Despite what Miraak was inclined to believe in order to salvage his own ego, Nemesis was not hot-headed. She was a creature of impulse and of gut feeling; of both fury and of determination. Nothing had stood in her way before, and the return of a leader who, as of now, was marked as an abandoner would not be the one to start. A traitor, he was. The mere thought made her blood boil in defiance to his claimed birthright. Damien was owner of nothing, and he would not walk upon her land as if he was still entitled to it. He had lost that ability upon his departure. Even Potema had slipped in the ranks, which proved nothing of the Melonii worth to the former Silencer. Nemesis, as her name suggested, was born of vengeance and it would be by her hand, should she choose to forgive Damien of his crimes against their home.

For now, however, she spent her time content with all that she had won; Atshen -- her eldest -- would soon return with a child's head in offering to her, for his wish to slay his brother dead. Abraxas, however, was far smarter than her raven-haired son; she knew, and he would soon catch on to the bulls-eye labeled on his back. 

Perhaps her parenting methods would be viewed as cruel, should outsiders learn of what went on within blackfeather woods; but her malicious and unmerciful ways brought results. Results were all that mattered; the safety of her children were less important if they did not have skill. Her children, the Spiderlings, would inherit the dark woods and all it's worth; something that the Melonii brood threatened among everything else.

Seething in her own fury, she halted her run to the decaying borders of an enemy pack she had long since run out; a reminder of her ultimate goal and what her efforts came out of. It was her anger, her rage, her fury, and everything else in between that got things done; unlike the supposed heir to the dark woods liked to mock her upon. From the depths of her throat came a snarl as she picked herself up once more, pushing her weight into her run as she loped into the stomping ground, chasing the scent of prey as she went.