Ankyra Sound On the horizon, out on the edge of the world

"Then you can die and take their place, old man," Wylla decided, but before she could make a single move toward him, Caiaphas stormed onto the scene with a threat. Several thoughts flitted through her mind—how was the crone able to leave her pups? Who was watching them? Was anyone watching them? Could she outrun two decrepit creatures, one old enough that death's shade tickled his ears, the other bone-thin and made old by years of hatred?

She sure could, but threats or no threats, Wylla didn't have it in her to go after innocent lives without a reason. She should have known better than to think these two would ever listen to her. She should have known better than to let them stay—they must have fancied themselves a pack within a pack, beholden to their own rules, loyal not to the leadership, and that belief was incompatible with Wylla's belief that she alone ruled Grimnismal. She seethed at the witch from behind yellowed fangs—in that state, she thought she could probably easily best Caiaphas even with her own healing injuries.

But she made no move, because Wylla knew two versus one was no contest, and she also wasn't stupid enough to expose her throat long enough to call on the support of her siblings. So she glared and spat, "then kill me, you ugly old hag," because that's what they were gonna do anyway. She didn't even think to point out that Caiaphas had claimed her pound of flesh in the form of her brother, and that Wylla was exercising the exact same right.