Silver Moraine chain hits my chest

Whatever uncertainty Magpie had felt since her second birthday seemed to have dissipated over the course of their conversation; a path toward her ambitions was now becoming clear. She had been wise to trust in her instinct to leave Fox to the caldera and not interfere there. It had been a stale environment, filled with routine and obedience, without any culture. And while the Corvidae would always be part of her, she longed for something that would be only hers. It seemed that she had judged Thuringwethil and the Drageda correctly; though the younger wolf was monotonous in her expression, the slow blink did not go unnoticed.

And when the implied promise of a high position in rank was dangled, Magpie's interest was secured— though suspicion lingered, for it was offered almost too easily. It made sense that the wolf with the backing of a pack would have the position of power in these negotiations, but the dark Corvidae did not like it. Thuringwethil had done nothing to earn her trust, and while Magpie usually took things on faith, the proposed contracts thus far had more serious conditions than she was used to.

"How can I trust that the promise will be honored," she questioned, "after I've given my talents to you?" They were at an impasse, she knew— they had only just met, and neither knew the other's character, but they were demanding quite a bit from each other. At the same time, these were not the borders of Sleeping Dragon, and Magpie was not groveling for a spot... nor would she.