Greatwater Lake Fledgling with a Broken Wing

lil cameo!

Never a day of peace in the Lake, Zaahira had come to learn. 
With the foreign scent at the border, the only thing the snake could think to do was investigate. Her patience had begun to wear thin, hanging on by only a fragmented string. Restlessness was growing within her; the rise of tension, both in the pack and outside of it, was enough strain as it was. 
This newcomer, as it turned out, was not appreciated either. 
She watches her Alpha as she rounds a curve, a low chuff coming from flared nostrils, approaching with a stone gaze and an ugly show of her teeth. But it was not at him. 
She saw in this stranger, this little raven that groveled at Khaba's feet, the spitting image of her own bird. Emaciated, fragile, small. Weak.
And in Zaahira, a storm began to brew.