Emberwood if he's a king, he's a priest and god too

Avicus understands. she catches a glance of Ashlar's nervous face—such stark contrast to the gleeful bloodlust that plays upon her father's countenance. she does not know that his nerves come on account of worrying over fighting her. she does not even think of it. why bring them all the way out here for a spar? the den must be the focus, not wolf-to-wolf combat.

so for her part, she is silent, determined. she knows the game is afoot. she strides toward the den and begins to sniff around the entrance, poking her head in boldly. . .

but only her head. she knows that on the creature's home turf, a fight within its den will be disastrous for her, even if backup is waiting in the wings.

it seems, however, that the den is unoccupied—for now. she retreats and scents along its edge, finding a recent trail leading outward, into the thicket of the Emberwood. not here, Avicus says, staring ahead, then looking back at the Ursus pair. her chin dips, pointing the way. there.

her eyes fix upon Merrick in question. fox? she asks, then shakes her head. what? her gaze shifts to Ashlar, wondering if the singer knows.