Ankyra Sound One wing will never fly

After her encounter with the mountain woman, Rosalyn had drifted back home. Home was a rather relative term really, but it was the place where she always ended up when there was nowhere else to go.  Vlad had been her biggest attachment to this place but was now gone.  She wandered farther afield and was removed mostly from pack affairs, though on this return she became aware of at least one new scent she had not before encountered.

Mildly curious, she had determined to perhaps seek out the source.  She didn't have Vlad's easy nature but that didn't mean she was a complete social pariah.  She'd considered at one time throwing herself into the task of wining and dining her packmates and, finding the energy to do so seriously lacking, abandoned the notion for a slower and more indifferent approach.  She assumed (perhaps incorrectly) that all in the pack were as scattered a bunch as the original founders.

A walk along the shore granted a chance.  She was hoping to scrounge a bird or two from near the cliffs and instead ended up with a couple of strangers instead.  Her eyes narrowed as she watched, stopped a way back from Rayen on the coastline.  One was a dark female (almost similar in appearance to herself, a fact she quickly dismissed) and the other male, middling size and sorry looking.  No aggression yet, which was good.  She'd beeline out of there right quick if that were the case. 

She was too far away to hear any initial greetings and hardly shy about interrupting.  "If you're lookin to off yourself, there's kinder ways than jumping."  She said as she approached, eyeing Rayen as she did so.  Now that she was near she could scent her; new blood of the fold.  Hmm.