Redsand Canyon as the building continues to burn

Renard was proving to be unequally unreadable. Only the slightest flick of an ear and, as he talked, another grin—still miles away from Donovan’s smirks and the sad, perhaps performative smiles of Derg—was his only noticeable shift of expression. Was it intentional, chosen with the consideration of his accompanying words?

This was much easier to focus on than the dawning realization that, in fact, Finley had not caught the name of the pack. Renard had given no indication of his familiarity with the mountains, and if anything seemed much more comfortable than she. A blow to her ego, then, if he knew more, but it’d be equally silly to feign an answer. He continued, at any rate, with a shrug that was certainly intentional—he hadn’t struck her as the dramatic type—and once again brought Donovan’s judgment into question. This time the implications were much closer, a steak on a stick mere inches from her face.

They hadn’t seen each other since the meeting. Had her belated skulk told Renard enough? Or was he testing the waters in turn? For all her ongoing paranoia it felt as though it’d been ages since Finley had needed to keep her senses attuned in what, to an unknowing outsider, may have seemed like passing conversation.

She welcomed the challenge.

“It was a tense confrontation,” Finley replied, with a small shrug of her own. “We didn’t exchange names or titles so much as glares. She’d been traveling, the ‘monarch.’” Or, in fewer words: no.

But on to the next query. Donovan had been exploring a remote little cave, of all places, last Finley had caught him; not exactly the priority of a commander mobilizing his forces. “Donovan seems secure in these canyons. He’s had little difficulty finding new recruits, even here.”

And for what? To defend this arid land? What kind of warriors get ripped apart by romantic drivel before the enemy can even think about crossing the border?

If there was doubt in Finley’s words it was indicated only by a slight shake of the head, as if dislodging more cacti-marks; her ever-flat tone betrayed no confidence in Donovan, either. To speak of his plans with such pride now would have been transparently feigned.