Redsand Canyon i am one among the dunes

THIS GOT VERY LONG feel free to ignore the collapsed part. also this might be cameo-ish depending how things go; skip unless addressed

In which Finley thinks a lot about things that will probably be repeated, but more relevantly, in the thread linked within.

She’d been distracted.

The Saints were meeting, exploring their new home with even newer members in tow, and Finley… was unaware. To call it a blissful unawareness would be a misnomer, however. Blistering heat had her panting dawn to dusk, but the tail end of the encounter in the Hollow gnawed at her like rabid fleas.

“Come near Donovan again and you won’t be so lucky.”

Finley had almost put her life on the line, against an enemy leader, for the sake of what was, far as she could tell, a… personal vendetta? a jealous grudge? over Donovan? He certainly hadn’t seemed injured during the Saints’ travels, nor did he strike Finley as the type to whimper about verbal battering. Thus she could only assume his volatile partner had something else against the white monarch. Oblivious to matters of the heart as Finley was, she could not understand such fury over what struck her as little more than a love triangle.

Mortifying, really.

But, for better or for worse, Finley was a Saint, and she owed Nemisis her due loyalty regardless of personal gripes. Right?

Jostled from her spiraling delirium, when Finley caught the trails of several wolves, familiar and otherwise, her heart dropped. Shit. Had she missed the announcement of a meeting? It had struck her as odd, the lack of fanfare upon their arrival, but she supposed everyone had better things to do than sit around and listen to Donovan gloat; they’d been a smaller crew then, with less need for grand speeches. But times had changed.

Muffled voices over the stones drew Finley towards a field of flowers—and an air spiked with tension. She approached with her head low, taking her time, hoping to enter discreetly; packmates new and old had gathered below already, and the square-off between Nemisis, Donovan, Derg, and an unfamiliar female told Finley things would be… less flowery, within the ranks.

Finley had no hope of sneaking past, not with her dark pelt against these red stones, but gave the four as wide a berth the canyon would allow as she joined the uninvolved wolves—Colin and an unfamiliar male, the latter’s tail curled not unlike Donovan’s—away from the action.

“Know your place.” “Introduce yourself to our pack without teeth.” “I have to keep them on their toes!” Was Donovan able to keep his “differently-conditioned” partner in line, or was he wound so thoroughly around the spitfire that her flaws were truly but a laughing matter in his ever-bemused eyes?

As Finley sat back, watching the sordid scene unfold, Donovan stopped Derg, who appeared to have tried shielding the younger female with his own body. The words which reeled Derg in suggested that Donovan intended to let his senseless affections fight among themselves.

It filled Finley with an odd sense of admiration—watching packmates take their frustrations out by fang over word was perhaps the most familiar experience she’d had in months—and… revulsion? As if the new female wouldn’t have had it coming for challenging a superior. But she was younger, and Nemisis was… Nemisis.

But doubts be damned. The mental fleas threatened to swarm once more. Finley shook her head quickly; they had no place here. She would attend, listen, and leave, should this proceed without further incident.