Shadow Mountain nor the warrior for her glory

renard lingered where they stood as she moved towards them. they did not quite feel the same camaraderie after the spar – a test of someone’s talents was nothing but a test of someone’s talents, a learning tool for each. the scars drawn across her throat, right shoulder, and muzzle, extending to frame her eye were not ones they had left; they had not yet had the time to even formulate a question before she came to a sudden stop, hackles bristling.

the message, considering all that had happened, was clear.

some little voice at the back of their head said they ought to feel bad about this, or at least pretend – instead, renard looked across the distance at her, expressionless but for the half-twist of their smile. they could at least do her the courtesy of not pretending otherwise.

her fury could not have been built entirely on rumor, truth or lie. no. this was more…personal than that.

personal enough for her to attack them? renard would, in her place.

but they were a saint.

“what did the saints do to you?” a pause for clarification. “i believe we did something. our leaders have been a little…” dry, now, “reckless.” donovan, nemisis... it felt like an understatement.