Meadowlark Prairie Codex

the joining speech that relmyna gives to bruges is not one he's heard before. some of it is true, certainly. they are not keen on outsiders but the bit about not leaving the dark woods strikes him as unusual. the tundrian is keeps his expression stalwart, as if this is usual protocol speech. he picks up on the listener's distrust and settles his glacial gaze upon the male, studious. wintersbane watches at the male's lips drawn into a thin line and then masks it with a smile, noting the bow of his head first to him — surely it should have been to relmyna first, wintersbane thinks, who is clearly the higher ranked wolf — and then to the listener.

interesting, wintersbane thinks, how suddenly the tides have changed. suspicion arises in the warrior's broad chest and he shifts his weight. perhaps it is nothing, plenty of potential joiners had been uninterested, after all. and perhaps if this had taken place before the whole mess mou-screech had brought to them he wouldn't have given it a second thought. but he's been on edge ever since the woman's arrival, more so after her escape. wintersbane lifts his chin, silvery-blue mane puffing with the motion of his chest as he listens to the male's polite decline. his gaze does not move to the gift even as they are told they could keep it. it remains level, weighing upon bruges like osiris watches the scales: the feather of truth against the heart on the opposing side.

the male disappears into the foliage across from the pair in a trot and wintersbane turns to relmyna. should i follow him? he asks her, while the scent trail is still fresh.

---

285 words