Lion Head Mesa I am always wondering what you see

She survived.

The war returned, and she survived. She told someone the name she had been telling herself she was since she left the Monkshood to burn behind her heels. And still. She survived.

Her nostrils burned with iron and saint, and still she was here. Blood had spread across her muzzle. And yet, she was still here. Still Nephele. Or was she? The thought halted her in her slow slink back to her den. The skull held between her teeth was gripped tighter.

Oh, but who was she?

Nephele was defined by a want to run. Nephele was a thief. Nephele was a coward. Nephele had never done anything for anyone else.

Sabah had made friends. Sabah had lead a war party. Sabah had killed someone in revenge to a fallen friend. Sabah was currently gripping a skull between her teeth tight enough to bruise her gums.

The thought made her shake her head. No.

But yes.

She started walking again. And once she made it to the area claimed as her own, she selected a rock shelf, and placed the skull upon it. A trophy for her wall. She cast her gaze to where the sun would rise once again in the morning.

Nephele smiled, and entered her den to sleep.

And in the morning, the dawn rose from it.