Stavanger Bay To Clutch and Cry Again- and Again.

She crawled from the waters, saline and seaweed that was adrift the seas as she had returned fresh from the battle with Firefly. Ribs bruised with one momentarily either broken or splintered, she limped to the wet dredge of sandy beach. Coughing free both the gurgle of awful water that slipped down her parched throat, she ignored the flecks of bloodied droplets that mixed with the clear liquid.

She was alone.
And that meant she had survived. This was her purpose. She had been sent here to bring her livelihood and customs, but if a queen stole her crown from a thief who had taken it from another, then it was not her culture to be shared. In fact, the culture was purely that of Ford’s design. It was not time for her to simply erase that which he had instilled within the wolves of his home-

yet here, Ford was not. Ford had been claimed to have been defeated by who she had just upsurped, if not killed. She should have been dead...
but here Akira stands.

The petite wolfess makes her way up the strand of sand and up the expanse of stifled grass until it’s heart of domain became lush with life once more. This was where scents were strongest-
and without much time between her pained breathing, she caught onto @Dalia’s scent, and followed it to a den.

Struggling to stand now, exertion and bloodloss ailing the newly crowned Empress Stormborn, Akira feebly called out from the doorway,

“I need-....assistance...please...”