Silvertip Mountain petyr van abel

bone of the father, unknowingly given

you will renew your son
flesh of the servant, willingly sacrificed
you will revive your master
blood of the enemy, forcibly taken
[size=3]you will resurrect your foe[/size]

A scent. A familiar scent. That was what had caught her attention as she patrolled the mountain, learning every possible inch of the place that was to hopefully become the new home of the expanding Tartok. There was no way she could mistake that scent. She had played with him, raced with him, laughed with him.

Hurrying in the direction it had come from, the large beast pulled herself to a sudden halt, raising her head high and lifting her tail partially upward. Icy gaze took him in and she sniffed at the air surrounding him. Moving forward, toward him, she moved to brush her shoulder against his.

“I know your face…” was all she said as she fell into step beside him, keeping her side lightly touching his.