Silvertip Mountain sometimes it makes me wonder why i even bring the thunder

repost / edit, sorry y’all

By means of natal mahtanë fashion, the silver had engrossed the remainder of their awaiting by priming as many places of her hide that she could reach. It wasn’t apparent, not at first, when she strode — no, stormed— her return to Vercingetorix’s side, but for all the world she looked just as warriorsome as he’d said, once upon an eve; moonstone pelt, groomed to a gleam; crown held high despite her shorn face.

She’d been right to think of him as Stormborn, so many moons ago; so now, in this moment, what was she?

Her eartips quivered as Verx beckoned these demons to come dance: ‘Demons tend to scatter, once enough seraphim arrive,’ she’d once said, and the she-wolf spared a look over a pale shoulder for @Sanguinus and whomever @Evergreen had blessed them with for this night. Her own rage was a slumberous, albeit restless beast; but with each print closer to Silvertip, it began to rumble awake from its repose.

Her voice was sonorous, low, as she gave her report: “No sights or scents of pursuers.” A little sniff, before her lilting timbre descending into a deep, rasping croon, “We should be good to give them all hell, phayanāro,” and only the new endearment to sweeten that ruthless, boding intent.

There was a lull in her, like tranquility before tempest, as her memory followed right up the knolls and landed with a thud! on that mountain. As much as she wished to follow, to fight by his side... the silver turned, musing, “I will stay with our daughter. And she will stay with me.” Until Isilmë’s brother was returned to them  (heavens help them, he would!)  she was all they had left. Their precious, vicious shrike of a daughter.

And her mother of a dragon would take fangs through her own heart before anyone dared take her from them.