Dragoncrest Cliffs Scarred

A summons.  Rosalyn heaved a heavy sigh.  She could be optimistic, hope it was someone calling to join, but they were two for two on antagonistic harriers and she never had been one to ignore the odds.

She descended quickly, rolling into a run as she stretched the stiffness from her shoulders.  The salt air did wonders for her mood and, ever so slowly, waking up by the sea had reminded her why it's beauty seemed to calm her.  The longer they stayed here, the more it felt a stone hung over their heads, yet the less she wanted to leave.

There was only one this time, it appeared, though last time a few had appeared seemingly from nowhere.  Rosalyn appraised him, but remained back, on her side of the scent line.  At least his call had been polite, but he did carry the bitch's scent.  A messenger, maybe.

Yes?  Curt, abrupt, and prepared for the worst.  Yet her stance remained neutral; if there was to be a fight, they'd send more than this.  The woman had threatened as much.

WC: 180