Dragoncrest Cliffs some would sing and some would scream

Akantha lingers, unwilling to turn her back, but knowing better than to break the sacred truce of a pack's borders by inviting herself past it. She does not sit, she does not lurk—she stands firm, eyes fixated on the darkest shadows of the woodland, and ears cupped to catch the sound of approach. And she is not left waiting long. A large, young, wolf steps out from the undergrowth, demanding submission with every step and threatening violence should she give him the oppertunity.

The Matriarch observes him, stone-faced, until she decides to bow her head below his own—the only deference she is willing to afford him. Her tail remains slack, but her heart thuds rapidly, thinking of Atshen. The ache in her neck and shoulders is still fresh, still debilitating. It's a wonder she even came here at all, risking herself to slake her curiousity. But Akantha is nothing if not determined.

"Calm, please, I don't intend to intrude or offend." She replied cooly. "I spoke to Wildfire, your Ambassador, a few days ago and I am merely here to talk. My name is Akantha." She wasn't betting on this male knowing anything of her meeting with Wildfire, but she supposed a name-drop might help abate any suspicions he might have regarding her presence here. She had a reason, and that was to see if everything Wildfire claimed was the truth. So far she was not disappointed (if Arlo was any indication) and it worried her.