Luneshale Pass You say you're the king

Dyone understands the strange turns which life can often take all too well, but that does not mean she has to submit to them.

The death of a husband, the forced dispersal of her children, and now she was here. Maybe it was for the better, she mused. She had always thought her previous mate to be rather dense.

Tail swaying at her hocks, paws and hips moving to a beat that only the titaness can hear, she walks forwards without a goal. There is nothing for her here, nothing and nobody to search for.

When she reaches a more suitable area, she decides that she will hunt. Something big, weakened by the winter. She wants to feel strong today.

ximena’s golden eyes studied the lone figure ahead, her interest piqued by the commanding presence the stranger carried. she approached with measured steps, her posture relaxed but undeniably confident, the faintest smirk gracing her lips.  

winter’s a cruel muse, she began, her voice smooth and warm against the chill. it starves the land, tests the strongest. but you don’t seem the type to fail, carnal. her words were laced with intrigue, her gaze unwavering.  

she stopped a respectful distance away, tilting her head with a sly smile. hunting alone? brave... or bold? the question hung in the air, her tone teasing yet curious. though, i suppose someone like you doesn’t need company. her eyes flickered with a subtle softness beneath their glint. but if you want it... well, here i am.

A woman approaches, her tone sparking some interest in Dyone. Her head turns to meet the eyes of the stranger. Smaller than herself, though most wolves are, but pretty too. A part of her wonders if they may be cut from the same thread of mischief.

You speak with confidence, as though you believe we are friends. She turns now, no rush in her steps. Charming, but rather dangerous wouldn't you say? For all this woman knew, Dyone could have lunged the moment she was done speaking. But she supposed that it was the other way around, too. If no risks were taken, how were wolves ever supposed to meet each other?

There is no hesitation as she closes the distance between them, satisfaction in her eyes as she towers over the other. My name is Dyone. Tell me yours. More of a demand then a request.

ximena does not yield beneath the shadow dyone casts over her. instead, she smiles—slow and knowing, as though she has already mapped the course of their meeting in her mind. there is no fear in her golden gaze, only amusement, a glimmer of something playful yet unreadable.  

ah, but isn’t confidence part of the game? she purrs, stepping just close enough that the space between them hums with unspoken challenge. you say it’s dangerous, yet here you stand, indulging me all the same. maybe you like the risk.

her head tilts, studying dyone with the appreciation one might reserve for a fine piece of art. a chuckle leaves her throat, soft and lilting. ximena, she offers at last, but only after letting the silence stretch just long enough to be deliberate. and if names are the currency we are trading, dyone, tell me— she leans in, voice a warm whisper at the other’s ear— what else do you have to offer?