Starglow Basin i really tried to stay cool

she sought out @Soto, pacing and impatient.

shall we go? she asked him upon discovery, the scowl cutting an ugly line across her otherwise delicate muzzle. osiel had promised her a mission, with soto to accompany her.

now, days had passed, and the moon was changing rapidly. it was time.

her desperation to prove her worth was rooted in her lack of ties elsewhere. once, she was a princess, wanting for nothing. once that birthright was ripped away, she'd wandered. found a place. assimilated. . .

but it was not like the land of her birth. she could only grow here if she tried.

their silver falcon is hungry to spread her wings into the cold night sky; to show her worth among the sparrows.

soto knows enough of the common tongue and its reprehensible sounds to know what she is asking. si. he motions the trail leading out towards the north, where it would carry them to luneshale.

first they built a cairn of rocks together, then a small cistern. now they took their first steps towards retrieving the green and building an empire.

l'acqua, sempre l'acqua, fiamma said idly as they worked upon the cistern. i suppose it is of utmost importance here. in my homeland—in mia patria—we had molta acqua.

she never had wanted for it. nor anything else, really. and after a life of pampered luxury, she found that the day-to-day grind of verapaz was far more satisfying than the monotony of home.

once they were finished with that task, she turned to soto and asked, e ora?

the woman was keen to learn why this 'green' was so special to the verapaz wolves. she had yet to sample it, herself.

to soto the green was more special than anything. 

he listened as fiamma’s words punctured their grueling work. at times he favored her tongue, finding similarity in consonants and words — other times, he could not make sense of it. 

she spoke again; a question. he looked to her to convey he did not know. ora. ahora. now?

 soto motions to the distant luneshale. 

their goal. 

their salvation. 

he does not speak again, perhaps frustratingly enough for fiamma, who now had the sole burden of carrying on their exsanguinating conversation.

no response. naturally. fiamma blew out her cheeks in a frustrated exhale and shook her head, then began to pad down the path he'd indicated.

andiamo, then, she replied, voice a bit clipped.

she'd wait for him to catch up and take the lead before she increased her pace. he knew the way, after all. and as the two traveled to their destination, she found herself deep in thought. contemplation of the value of this operation, of her place here.

but what else would she be doing, anyway?

andiamo. her tone cut short by the click of teeth.

soto moves out. a chance to test the limberness of his muscles, to ease his body into its old routine. the aches of his limb secondary to the goal at hand.

they travel in the silence he prefers; a few times he glances besides or behind him, always seeking the gaze of the silver mercenary before he moves off.

luneshale hovers in the distance, a grey sky wrapping around the bleak fangs of a distant summit.

soto breaks into a trot as they enter the pass, head high and ears alert for sentries.

the memory of blood and war was still fresh here. she could smell it—hovering over sangre's grievous wounds, packing them, trying desperately to heal the woman falling apart before her very eyes.

and she knew that more would come, because soto and his ilk were inherently violent men.

violent men—like her. . ."father." and perhaps her true sire, as well. 

she keeps soto's pace, tongue lolling, silvery fur rippling like fish scales in the glittering desert sun. once they reached their destination, she would turn to the man, brows lifted in silent question.

what next?