Wapun Meadow What Rough Beast

Still, she lingered here, a weed among the flowers, a thorn among the gentle wisps of grass. Beyond the presence of the herd here, Atropos had no reason to remain within these lands; the meadows were open, vast, and exposed whereas the wraith preferred something darker, closer, and far more intimate than all of this. There was something that she couldn't place her paw on, something that danced on the edges of her vision, though it may as well have been on her bad side.

An easy pace carried her above the flowering grasses, the red of her coat glaring and warm in the sun's gaze. From her observations, the herd here was sizeable and the scavengers were scarce. It would have made for an easy kill if she had been part of a group. Alas, now was not the time, distracted by the scent of others of her kin.

Turning from the trails of prey, Atropos turned to follow the scent of a different sort of prey, weak and unassuming. Untouched and untainted with the words of her gods. Carmine focused then on a pair in the distance and began a steady pace towards them, looking between the two as she closed the distance. Silent as a ghost, the wraith glided to a halt a yet fair distance; close enough to attack if needed, and far enough to flee should they both turn on her.

The fate spoke no words, despite the fact that she could feel her gods loom in closer, whispering, demanding, instructing that she sever the string. Sever the string and hand them over. Were her sisters here, their fate might have been decided as simple as that.