Sleeping Dragon but stars burn out, my dear, and everything golden dies

Everything happens quickly, before Thuringwethil gets a chance to speak. Wildfire offers to go, and turns to leave, but the darker woman stops her. Her fur bristles suddenly, and she lifts her head a little more at the display, but she doesn’t intervene. Magpie stands higher ranked, but she doesn’t understand the sudden need for dominance, the palpable anger filling her sleeping quarters, and she bites back a rumble in her chest to shed both females from her space.

It’s over in seconds—Magpie storms away and Thuringwethil stands there, awkwardly, watching the voided space before acknowledging Wildfire. Her ears splay back against her head, slate eyes watching her form a moment, before she turns and moves further back into the den. She’d understood their relationship—aunt and niece—to have been good, from Wildfire, at least, but was that the result of a lie?

“What was that?” she tries to ask calmly, but when she turns back, she realizes she can’t settle and her fur remains bristled around her shoulders.