Razorback Ridge bruises on both my knees for you

Set for the 8th

Tundra. Aries. Wintersbane. And fainter but fresh, the smell of Rowan and his mother, his sister. 

Maegi was livid as she scented the edges of Courtfall's boundary.  

She prowled along the ridge, gazing down into the valley. The place where those once loyal to her had chosen to congregate. 

Why? She would have bled for them, any of them. She had led not from ambition but from a hope that a home could be made for all. And when the promise of that home had crumbled, she had found them another one. A stronger leader. 

And yet, they shirked it all. Left without warning, without word. 

Mahler must know this. He must know that the wolves of the vale were those of fickle loyalty, and furthermore, in a land of limited resources. . .they were too close for comfort. They would create conflict, trouble. It was Damien all over again. 

Maegi was sick, green with the worst of envy and rage. Her eyes flashed, raking along the valley. Would it be that Cicero's legacy in her fiery left eye could set it all ablaze.