Dragoncrest Cliffs In the Curve of Old Bones

Masquerade couldn’t help but wonder if it was Avicus’s death or its aftermath that had driven some of the dead Wealda’s youngest litter to the fringes. Her latest conversation with Redd also preyed on her mind. She caught herself wondering what the rise would look like if she’d ended up as Wealda instead.

She needed to clear her mind of such fraught thoughts. Masque headed to the rise’s northern face today, dropping down its far slope into The Tangle over yonder. She found some scat and began tracking the wild pigs that roamed the area, though the trail was cut short by a ribbon of frozen water wending through the rugged landscape.

The Caru abruptly remembered Mulherin’s mention of another pack living in the willow woods west of Redtail Rise. But they had a much older neighbor, she knew. And an ally? she thought, long tail twitching as she pondered the merits of checking in with the coastal wolves. Masquerade considered herself diplomatic within the confines of her own hierarchy; she was less confident in her ambassadorial skills.

Nevertheless, she picked her way across the stream and headed toward the cliffs. She stayed well outside Sapphique’s claim, venturing just close enough that her voice might carry. Masquerade howled, then fell back. She idly wondered if Maleah had received her payment all those months ago.