Ankyra Sound Comfort, the enemy of progress.

Hi Ingram, ily.

For over a week, Nyx and Lycaon had rarely allowed one another out of their sights as they sought to find themselves intwined in a lovers' embrace whenever the opportunity presented itself. She'd gone to him and beckoned him to her willingly, giving herself to him freely despite her life-long reluctance to be courted by any male.

So what made this one so different?

Now, with her heat cycle over and her mind less hazy, the golden Ostrega sought more time by herself than beneath the pallid Beta. Instinct drove her to the shelter of Grimnismal's sequoias or further afield, where she intended to avoid Wylla at all costs, for she was not foolish enough to believe that her Alpha had been nose-blind to the scent that accompanied her heightened hormones.

Curiously, Nyx hadn't happened across any fresh markings or trails belonging to the mottled leader, so she found herself significantly more relaxed as she moved between the trees to mark their land's borders and reintegrate herself to pack life by making herself useful. She squatted to urinate here and there, though when she paused to consider peeing on the exposed roots of a tall tree, something unusual happened: she heaved, and from her jaws spilled the contents of her stomach.