Otter Creek she was poetry in a world

she mentions nemisis, then, and her absence. the edges of her muzzle curl in a dry, almost imperceptible smile. "beheaded," she clarifies, "for treason." a tilt of her muzzle that seems to say, or so I've heard. again, she wonders if beheading would have served to better her rule during her time with the nightwalkers; somehow, she doubts it. 

she reveals then her doubts, and the woman's nares flare. "if they run deep, do not waste your time following those you can not trust." doubts grew, like cracks in a sun-beaten sidewalk, fissured and widened until the basis of one's beliefs were made unstable and weak. one's loyalty must first be to one's self. if donovan turned out to be lacking, she'd have no qualms on turning her back on the group. besides, the silverlit was capable of better. 

"they're warriors, as the Nightwalkers were. but they've a structure we'd lacked, and donovan's followers — they're varied, united only by their shared decision to follow him." it was an honest analysis of the group, though her interest lay in how the rag-tag group that the ever-charismatic man had assembled would change as the weeks passed. "they've no shortage of enemies either; donovan repels just as many as he attracts,"  a shift of her brow, she's just as interested to see how this would end.