Sun Mote Copse The Fruit of the Spirit Is Love

The Copse was theirs, claimed by scent and by song. Though they were few, the Malkaria were strong. They had to be, for Ragna needed it to be so. Though now she had places to go, brothers who would (hopefully) accept her, she wanted to do this by herself. They were Alphas and Betas, her brothers. And she? She had no title, no leadership. But at least she had a pack and lands to protect. They may be the kings of their bloodline- and so too would she be, some day- but she held firm as Shieldmaiden. She would serve the Malkaria, and in doing so prove herself. But were these hopes built on salt and sand?

Ragna patrolled the borders as she had taken to doing ever since she met Arunik'ra. When needed she refreshed the scent markers. Always she kept her eyes and ears searching, seeking even the smallest thing that was out of order. She had been at it for some time and was almost to the river, so when she heard Ashera's call, Ragna heeded it. The word sister once again ate at her as it had when Floki spoke it, though she could not pin down the reason. Coming, came her brief reply, and she began to trot towards the source of the original howl.