Arrow Lake it's broken

slight pp of renard. markab, let me know if you want me to change anything! <3

though arrow lake was out of their way, it would be the first of the few false trails the commander intended to leave. she agrees, to an extent, that donovan probably wouldn’t care enough to look for her …but she is a master warrior with that comes the ability to be a tactician; being in such a close vein as they were. she doesn’t think donovan or derg will put in the effort and waste the thinning resources whenever they returned — if they returned — but she isn’t that arrogant. there was ample evidence to back it up but she feels better laying false trails all the same.

praimfaya tries, hard as she might, not to be a sentimental beast but she weaves past her mother and father’s gravesite, rubbing her scent over them, trying not to let her scent cloy and linger so it appears as if she was in a hurry.

we’ll have to retrace our steps. praimfaya speaks to renard, though she feels fairly confident that her companion is well aware of the process. the scent would taper off but lead anyone who followed on a wild goose chase for a while and the idea brings a quirk of her lips in a smirk.

the sound of approaching footfalls causes praimfaya’s hackles to bristle, her chin rising as she takes up a naturally defensive position, frostbound gaze darting to renard before it rests upon the shadows where the ursus blackbird emerges in all of her glory. they’d been gone from the saints for a few days now, officially, but the saints scent still emits from every fiber of their pelages like someone who uses too much perfume.

she does not doubt the ursus queen is this way for vengeance — for praimfaya was no stranger to vengeance and the lengths taken to achieve it. how far, the commander wonders, would astara be willing to go? would she, too, be willing to cut down anyone who got in her way? she steels her shoulders and takes a deep breath, lingering close to renard’s side, knowing there was no where to go but to face her. hei. the commander greets the ursus queen, head dipped — to protect her throat as well as in a sign of respect — wrapping trigedasleng ‘round her as if it were a suit of armor.