Golden Glade Born of fire, bound to nothing

“You’re right. Some blood stains too deep. Better to leave it behind than drown in it.”

She shifted her stance, her tail flicking lazily behind her as she considered Mictec’s words about her people. “Soft-bellied wolves don’t last long, especially when the gods stop listening.”

Aitana’s smirk returned, a hint of sly admiration in her expression. “Exile might’ve knocked you down, but you got back up. It's gutsy, amiga. I like it.”

She glanced toward the clearing, then back at Mictec, her amber eyes glinting with a mix of curiosity and challenge. “So, tell me,” she said, her voice slipping back into its usual playful cadence, “are you trying to prove them wrong, or is this just for you? A big middle claw to the madre, eh?”