Wheeling Gull Isle xxiii. thirsty eyes and hungry hearts

I'm sorry for the absence everyone - I've been ill/dealing with mental illness but I'm going to be getting back into the swing of things this week, it's good to be back and threading with y'all! <3 (@Daegon, @Rhaelyx, @Connor, @Lokie, @Padma, @Basil, @Komal, @Tarot, @Akavir)

She woke in the silver of daybreak with ash on her tongue and the echoes of toppling thrones ringing in her ears. A time past, a Rhæ who was no more.

Dew beaded, damp and cool and invisible in the poor light, upon the surfaces of the shattered cove - even the pelts of their bed had been whetted, heat trapped within the heavy furs, but perhaps that was the sweat of her visions. A chill gripped the Queen of Shards as she stirred, fractals bunching with tension as sinew rippled beneath the nitesky of her pelt; stretching, quivering, she rose to take in the distant flickers of grey waves rise and fall - turned away as it brought to mind again the thought of fallen cities. 

Slick though the stones were, the shadow that slipped from amongst the nest of hides was silent in her movements, careful of the still slumbering male left in her wake. Lilac slide to him and here, she paused, head cocking in mute consideration. 

To wake him or let him rest?

The choice was easy; he'd not shouldered leadership lightly. Her zaldrīzes seemed determined to gain the approval and trust of the recruits, to fulfill the role of Lord to the best of his ability. His responsibilities wore on him and though she worried, part of her could not help but be grateful she no longer bore it alone - though it was a weight she carried with pride, contentment.

She chose to let him sleep, ghosting her lips over his brow tenderly before slipping into the dawn. 

Though instinct itched, prickling with an unrelenting need to round the Isle as was her norm, the nightwisp abstained. She'd patrolled the evening before and had more pressing concerns. 

Just because Rosencrantz had dispersed didn't mean the plans they'd had could fall apart - the caches still needed filling, the pack still needed sustenance. A communal hunt would make a good start and the resident deer needed to be hunted; they were already growing uneasy with the wolves' presence. 

Along Breakwater the once-exile loped, skirting around the rocky slopes, sending the flocks into a panic was a nuisance best avoided. Through the shadowed depths of Longshore Forest, a flitting shadow mired in the mists as the sun peeked shyly over the Isle. 

The scents of her prey were scattered, erratic, overlapping - a testament to just how much the pack's colonization disturbed the herd's routine. A frown set into the corners of her lips, circling and weaving with confusion; ears pricked, head lowered, jaws agape as she struggled to detect a specific, recent trail.

There. 

Murmuring a hushed whisper to the Hunter, Rhælla leapt, bounding north, skidding to a halt some ways south of the small cluster of blacktail deer. Settling onto her haunches with a satisfied grin, several hours past sunrise, the nightwisp let her head fall back - an eager, summoning howl ringing through the trees for her packmates.