The Sentinels moving in reverse with no way out

The shewolf introduced herself as aria — as a singer, Indie was familiar with the term and could think of no more appropriate moniker for the wisp of a woman. Indie smiled bewitchingly and dipped her muzzle, head, neck and chest in greeting; it was as pro forma as the con woman dare stray, but the gesture had that extra flair that drew Indie to it. “Indie,” the chanteuse chimed at the arc of her bow, allowed her tail to sway once, twice, and then she gathered herself and sat to hear the rest of Aria’s tale.

Indie let out an exasperated huff and glanced despondently at their charred milieu. “Aye, such a sad tale for such a beautiful land.” There was beauty in the ashes, but as Aria painted a picture Indie could almost see the redwoods sprout right before her eyes, growing up and up until the treetops were hidden from her sight. Smaller plants crowded the rare windows of light, reaching out to it, hoping to grasp they rays for its very own. Between the trees was a family — the mayfairs — running about and doing their duties. At the sight, Indie nodded her head approvingly.  The vaudevillian refocused her attention on the woman to her side. “and for a beautiful lady,” Indie tactfully concluded.

“Who were the Mayfairs? What were they like?” Indie spoke, giving Aria an out.