Boartusk Heights Black-tailed

It is dusk when the wind picks up, masking the scent if not the sounds of the coy’s movements when she hikes the steep slope to a wolven camp. She had lost the messenger’s scent the night prior to a thickening wind. Now her distrust goes well beyond that of mere political machinations. This is a land she does not know.

And all she can think about is how an innocent man has been stolen in Muat-riya’s name, beneath the waving emblem of Eset’s reign.

She pushes on, a howl raised for pleading answer of any near.

timeline??? what timeline???

a scrawny thing appears at her doorstep. through the mist and cloak of night, reyna strides confidently to answer the howl.
desert thing. she carried the same scent as the desert kingdom, and jealous reyna was ready to turn her back. we have no soldiers to lend to sand rats.

but for now, the queen entertains the woman's presence.
state your purpose, for you stand at the gates of La Muerte.

Mum said it was okay to break the space-time continuum SO- :)

Vincent follows his mother as she goes to answer the stranger's call at their borders. As she treads through the undergrowth like a pale wraith, she is shadowed by the smaller, dark figure who trails behind, red eyes gleaming in the moonlight.

The kingdom in the Lowlands has captured the prince's interest. Where his mother saw sand rats, Vincent saw an opportunity to unite royal blood. A chance to grow both of their kingdoms into a powerful empire. Perhaps this spindly thing had come with a proposition?

Vincent sidles up beside his mother as she addresses the stranger. White fur tangles with dark as he pushes his muzzle into the long fur of her shoulder, staring all the while at the woman mockingly – as if to brag that he was here, secure and comforted, and she had to stand there in her distress.

ty both for joining <33

A proud woman appears at the edge of a clearing, her bone-white pelt and golden cheeks stark as slashes of lightening against grey stone. Nobility exudes in grand waves and the hebsut is inclined to bow low before her, eyes straining out the bite of highland cold. When her head rises they are joined by a little boy who clings close to the woman, the selfsame confidence issuing from bright eyes.

She felt small in those stares and with the wind blowing through her, far from the gold of her desert. It is only for the gravity of her purpose that her spine straightens, voice fighting the mountain’s howls.

“I am Eset, head of Muat-riya in service of Pharaoh Toula and the kingdom of Akashingo. One of our fellahin has gone missing, presumed captured. I’ve been tracking a scent but lost it just east of these foothills. I have come to ask if La Muerte has knowledge of any unusual groups moving near your claim.”

reyna smiles at the sign of respect, though barely softens her posture. her precious boy came trotting to her side. she let himself weave between her legs, where it was safe. may this serve as a lesson how to speak to outsiders — if only her daughters were here to learn alongside.

the titles the woman spoke with were unfamiliar — she could only presume they were the language of the sand people. strange and useless in these lands.
temptation to send them over to wreak havoc in the kingdom's troublesome neighbors and displace them boiled within her. but there, indeed, were strangers near her land. one she had not yet the time to investigate herself.

just below here, i'd caught a scent of strangers. i'm not sure how many.

still, to come and ask her. was it out of suspicion for her kingdom? had their nonsense reached even the desert's ears? reyna's eyes narrowed, and feeling mighty again after so long she decides to tempt fate.

why have you approached us with this question? blood was too precious to shed in capture of some fool from a desert kingdom — especially one with so few soldiers of their own, they've had to ask for charity. 
after all, we are not the only ones dwelling in these hinterlands.

The woman bows low and while mother and son both smile, Vincents' is more of a greedy show of teeth; the sign of an ego already outgrowing a too-small body. She was right to show such deference in their presence; he expected no less.

The stranger then speaks of Pharaohs and kingdoms, and the boy can't help but wave his tail in excitement. As pleased as he was to meet the head of this Muat-riya, he wondered why had she come all this way herself. Surely this was a servant's job, no?

In stark contrast to his mother's own indifference, Vincent was eager to find out all about the mysterious packs of the desert and their strange titles.

"What's a fellahin?" he pipes up, knowing it was not proper to interrupt such an important conversation, but when would he have another chance to ask directly from the source?

“You are not the first I’ve asked, my Lady,” Eset counters with a tweak to the obsidian brow that fought to keep its submission. It is a strange inquest, and the dame’s narrowed eyes spurn the hebsut’s own suspicions. On the defensive, she had something to hide. Now the coy wondered what it was.

Her firelit eyes found the boy, his little voice holding strong as the foehns passed bitter fingers through their fur.

“Fellahin are employed servants to Pharaoh,” she explains to the pup, who seemed more curious than guarded. Her right shoulder faces the brunt of the wind and the hebsut shudders once more.

“Just below; are you referring to the West of these spires?” Her own question of the woman comes next.