Shimmering Sands "it's calm before the storm, winslow."

only a flare of his nostrils this time; lionel was not about to be drawn again. knaven was the obi-wan to his anakin. one day the mayfair would regain the high ground, but not now. and so he was silent, winning their argument seven ways in his head.
until he caught notice of his brother's heavy look, and startled back to himself. eyes gathered their keen hunting edge; lionel appraised their surroundings silently. "smells like a pack," he muttered, annoyed by the existence of another coastal band. "probably should go back across the moors." but it was flat, and distant; lionel was finally not feeling the rain pelting his head. he didn't want to leave. but there was nothing to be killed here.
and so he dragged himself wearily from the shadowed wood and headed across the flatlands, catching to his surprise the thin trail of deer.