Blackfeather Woods Night of the Living Dead

The dark woman would have nothing that would challenge her children. So, at the news of yet another litter being born within the dark woods, the Silencer tensed; unable to bring light to her darkened eyes. Whatever the intentions of Potema, it was in her children that the Brotherhood would succeed to, the next generation to take up the reigns once the rest were dead and gone, as had been the plan all along. However, suspicion boiled underneath her bones;  Potema's children would only prove to be unwanted competition, and no matter how horrible, the dark woman was not in the slightest pleased with the update so much so it caused her to fall silent. What had her children been made for if not to do the very thing that Potema's future young would take away? What was the point of Potema's young when they did not need more, nor would they serve any purpose than to challenge the already existing? A distant look was set upon her features, unable to bring herself to fake a smile she did not mean. She was heartless amidst a celebration, however, it was in her mind that the legacy of her own would not be smothered by others, even in their youth. While she could not halt nor slow the production of Potema's children in her womb (without causing anarchy, of course) she, by no means, had to celebrate life that was not worth celebrating. Who knew if they even lived inside the pale woman, or if they would be born breathing? Nemesis would not waste her time, nor draw from the attention of the lesser ranks to contribute to the common congratulations that seemed to circulate around the circle. Instead, she seemed to shrink back, eyes trained anywhere but the pregnant woman not a foot away; seemingly burying herself among her own children in attempt to draw attention away from herself -- and the fact she had not spoken a word of well wishes. 

As the meeting went on, and the old man would tell tales, Nemesis would further reach in to her own mind, unable to grapple the though of her brood becoming -- inferior. The mere thought morphed into a shudder and she picked herself up to wander away from the group, moving towards the multiple streams in search of what would relieve her sudden dry throat. Nemesis', perhaps, only children would not be known as the lesser group, and she would not have gone through weeks of torment to produce children that would be smothered by others in all sense of the word. Something was to be done about it, if not over time and a course of extreme subtleness. She knew she could not hurt a hair on the to-be pups head while Damien lurked around, and so, it would be through her own children that she made sure they knew that Potema's little one's would only smite their futures if they did not do something about it.