Broken Antler Fen with scarves of red tied 'round their throats

praimfaya moves along the borders of roangeda, growing clearer and stronger with each pass, with each wolf she draws into her kru, pausing here and there to mark them. she grows ever troubled by the rapid changes of the wilds: what has thus far come in the wake of the earth's tremors and what is to come. the scarcity of the herds is unnerving but she tries not to let paranoia become a constant companion. it has dacio has said: they would survive this ...and why should she believe anything less of her and roangeda's abilities? look what was accomplished thus far. sure, roangeda was still a fledgling pack but this was her's. blodreina might've laid its bare bones but everything beyond was accomplished solely by her. an impossible feat that was proving itself to be possible despite her tender age.

was there any doubt that despite her mother's status as natrona and her father's status as splita that she was a true commander? the evidence shows her that there isn't any.

the sound of approaching footfalls draw a cursory flick of her ear and her head shifts slightly, frostbound silver gaze seeing the steady approach of a silhouette upon the nearby horizon. praimfaya moves past roangeda's borders, moving to intercept the other with an imperious rise of her muzzle and a curl of her tail over her back. hei. the worlida calls out.