Dawnlark Plains Stop, what the hell are you talking about?

Anguish pressed its heavy sole down on her and crushed her to the earth, where she sank her chin into the thin fur of her chest and felt her resolve cracking. Nearly a year had she given to Diaspora's legacy, to Mahler, and all of it turned now to dust in the wind, and he had not cared one bit. Stag's ironbound loyalty was the only thing she had to show for her time spent. That, and the eye she would never recover that she had given in her misguided belief that Mahler wanted the cliffs to stay unclaimed. It was an arrow in her heart, festering.

The crunch of dead grass under broad paws warned her of another's approach. Hastily, she swept out a thin ankle to pull her cedar bark close and gulped in a huge, steadying breath. It had been hard enough when Mahler got to see her in these vulnerable moments, let alone some complete stranger. Or, heaven forbid, a Rusalkan.

She mistook the quicksilver man for Stag at first glance, but a moment's watery-eyed inspection showed the differences. A notch cut from the tip of his ear, a slash cutting away from his lips up the side of his face. She swept her muzzle hastily over her forearm and forced herself to her feet while he spoke, trapping the bark beneath her paw. He was just as awkward as Stag could sometimes be, tripping over his words. It was almost endearing enough to make her lips quirk, but there was too much heaviness on her soul now.

She parted her lips to answer, but bristled instead. The second wolf who approached looked so much like Taikon at a distance that a snarl gathered on the tip of her tongue. Her teeth ached to feel the pulse of the bastard who came along and slashed open her illusion of a tolerable life in their grasp. But when he spoke, it was with a heavy and unfamiliar accent, a little reminiscent of

Vylla

Nope. No thank you to that line of thought. Back it up. Taikon, yes. This was definitely not Taikon. I'm fine, she insisted, standing as tall as she could as if to ward off the vulnerability of before. It was difficult. Both men were much taller than she was, which was intimidating, but she had let a man stand over her and flaunt his toxic masculinity for the last time. It was hard not to assume that all large men with accents were the same as he was.

Are you from the seaside cliffs? she asked brazenly, trying her best to steady her heart and bracing her legs to spring away from them if they answered in the affirmative.