Swiftcurrent Creek death brings life · pack meeting

Alas, Solène's attempt to dominate all those who came after her sputtered and died almost before it began; however, she soon settled into a space beneath a grey male whose fur was blackened with dirt and whose name she did not know, and Jinx herself. The others she managed to hold her head high over, and an unusually wicked gleam in the girl's emerald gaze dared any to take the position from her.

A pale female whose coat was smeared with blood won a scathing stare, for it was not the blood of a meal but something the girl had possibly rolled in or placed upon herself for goodness knows what cause. It certainly wasn't for camoflauge. An older male who resembled the girl but carried both blood and a foul odor slid up along side the similarly-marked woman, and Solène wrinkled her nose faintly, wondering what their relationship was. They seemed oddly cozy. There was a haughty puppy who seemed to look to Jinx for guidance and whose under-the-breath good riddance made Solène wish to box his ears. She'd learned few enough skills in the Troisclair pack, but tending to pups was one of them, and she couldn't abide an insolent and unappreciative one who would mock their former leader posthumously.

Then there was Fox, the petite but apparently strong-willed woman who would be their Alpha, for now at least. As the female spoke, Solène couldn't help but feel that the new imperatrice would be more than suitable; she swiftly assigned them each a duty that was presumably well-suited to each wolf. The de Joie wolf's lips quirked into a well, here goes smirk, for hunting was not her strong suit, but she would do her best to try and please the yearling queen. The Frenchwoman made a note of the names that were spoken and matched them to the faces that Fox settled her gaze upon. Jinx and Njal would be their border guard, and Clarice would be their healer.

That left the older and still nameless male, and Solène felt an unaccountable satisfaction that Fox would call him out, demanding his name and skills he could lend them. Already it seemed that she would both know her packmates and weed out useless members. The concept of capable leadership was a novel one, for Troisclair's wolves had been indolent and lazy, not the least inclined to do any actual leadership nor to take up any actual tasks that they didn't absolutely have to. Solène followed the ruddy she-wolf's gaze to peer curiously at the unnamed white male, but she snuck glances around at everybody else, too, in an attempt to etch faces, names, and scents together in her mind.

To amuse herself, she also added an animal nickname for each. Njal she thought of as la Bison, for something about his solidness reminded her of the buffalo. Clarice was la Corneille, the crow, always lusting for blood and scavenging meals, and her larger presumed-relative, the male being questioned, was le Vautour, the vulture. The puppy was la Belette, the weasel, and Jinx was le Lynx, the bobcat, for her feline grace. Fox was, of course, le Renard. The Fox, for she could be nothing else.