Greatwater Lake thirty-fifth

THIS IS AN INVASION.

no posting order <3 @Khaba @Racharra @Miho @Sunspots (@Nazli for visibility!)

"protect our holy queen," senmut had instructed @Naberius and @Akhtar. "see that her servants are placated also." his gaze was firm. "and ber certain no one leaves the grounds of akashingo."

no one, including @Toula herself if it could be helped.

senmut was not a wolf of war, he was no general nor fightingman. but loyalty was his driving edict.

a howl, for @Zharille and @Zaahira, one that cut through the darkness of midnight. the former wished her throne returned, and the latter had accepted a place in the court of akashingo, though senmut was unsure if she might choose to return this day.

somehow the harried young priest had become cool-headed in his self-assuredness; he wore the catskin mantle of his station and as he stood waiting, the medjay bayek and the mazoi khusobek moved to flank him.

five to march.

dawn had passed from paleness into golden light when akashingo and its allies stood at the gates of the lake.

"khaba!" shouted senmut, his voice steady even as his nerves flinched. "you are commanded to stand for your crimes in this region, your theft of leadership, and your betrayal of pharaoh."

a moment, and then the erpa-ha proceeded on long strides, followed by khusobek.

bayek would remain at the border, a guardian against any allies the lake might have. "bring your children," senmut told zharille, eyes scanning the interior of the territory.

may Amun preserve us

Some had left him, betrayed him. All like the rest.

And yet, they had returned to accuse him. To challenge him. He would not stand for it.

Standing to face the assembly, Khaba stood tall, imposing a mannerism of innocence. Regardless of what they thought, he had done nothing wrong.

I have betrayed no one, and I have stolen nothing. He speaks clear, so that all who were against him may hear.

khusobek followed.

another fight. another war. he had not been subjected to it so much, belonging inside the palace, but he had seen the poisonings, the harem squabbles, the evil of forgotten men and women.

when the prince moved, he did also. 

the lake piqued his interest, and without hesitation he entered. and soon the accused rose tall and jetblack before them.

the mazoi was still, but his eyes burned with curiosity and anticipation of senmut's order, and if khusobek was honest with himself, he ached for the satiation of conflict.

Perhaps Zaahira's own arrival had been the final straw for the land of red sands. The call to action was quick, much quicker than she had anticipated, but that aside, when Senmut calls for her, she follows.
Foreign was this Lake, now; a place she called home only weeks ago, but now, as she weaves through the bracken and gazes upon the woodlands that surround it, the anger bubbles. It churns and twists in her abdomen as she casts a wide glance toward her fellow mazoi. Khusobek, she'd learned his calling was. 
Sticky summer heat is hot on her back, and that is what she thinks about when Khaba comes into view. The white-hot rays of sun, the stiffness of his posture as he denies his wrongdoings. Little red heart pounds and breath grows shallow. 
Betray no one? she is quick to pipe up, a clap of thunder in a cool gray storm. One paw is outstretched. A threat.
Selena is dead. 

She knew the way and would not wait. Cutting through the dark, blugeoning the way through the trees and to the lakefront, and on her heels the force of Akashingo. Zharille did not know the bargain she had struck, not wholly. She did not care — her only interest was her children, and then in order of importance came the land, and Khaba; and when given the chance the boar of a woman would seek her bloodline and reunite them.

The wrath she carried was barely contained. The little man, in his long-winded way, declared the crimes of Khaba and then gave Zharille an order, to which earned a glare and a grunt, but she was away to seek the scents of Miho, Racharra, Liezal, and Drusk.

Only, they did not remain together. At least one was absent, and this lack of scent further stoked the infernal fires of her rage.

Let them speak upon the borders; she did not care to lob words back and forth like stones in slings; Zharille was something more primal now — a scorned woman, a mother kept from what was her's.

Adult things had become such a bother to the little girl, leaving her on her own and bored most days. Everyone seemed to be running around in a daze, with little to no attention given to her or her siblings. There were new people coming, familiar faces going, and Miho was not fond of all this change to say the least. She continued to grow into herself with everyday, spending most of her idle time with her sisters. 

Her awkward sized paws pressed firmly into the soft sediment that lay at the mouth of the lake, watching water pool into the mini divots. She wished for Racharra to be there, the sister she had grown closest to as the children began to navigate the territory further from home. But today, there was no one to be found. Not until five figures drew her furrowed gaze southbound. She recognized two, one being her mother. She had returned with another one of their own, a woman who had left for reasons the young girl would not understand.

Words were exchanged as her father then approached, calm but commanding in tone. The other who beckoned him was loud and did not waver. Her mother, broke from the group to go off deeper into Greatwater. Where was she going? The dark pup slunk around the lake in hopes of intercepting the woman. A tiny chuff as her casually loping began to quicken into a run. Mother!

Entirely skippable, will only spectate unless interacted with! 

Initially, she'd only been watching from the mountains, high above the ground where she could watch them to all her little hearts content; though, that grew not nearly enough. No, now she was in with the big games! Now she could not only watcher, but now she could feel them, taste them, breathe them in, and it struck her heart high into oblivion. A quirky, crooked smile sat on her lips, her left eye into a squint and her paws daintily crossed over one another. Now she was nice and comfy, wiggling her shoulders and tossing her tail back and forth.

YEAH! YEAH! Get each other, get each other!

Sides? She picked no sides! She wanted to see, wanted to hear, and from a nice hill she planted herself down as if danger didn't exist. Oh, this was good! Yeah, yeah! Good! A nice, happy giggle quietly left her maw. Involvement? Awful! The tea? Extraordinary sippable, and her eyes were burned and branded with amusement.

Sunspots was totally confused. Many of the wolves he saw that he had once thought of as his pack now smelled different. He sensed the tension of the wolves and searched for one she-wolf in particular: Selena. He hadn't seen her in a long time, and the scent of her had slowly faded.

When Zaahira said what had happened to Selena, Sunspots ruffled his fur. It was obvious that most of the wolves were accusing Khaba.

But what surprised Sunspots the most was Legend: the female, the one he had admired, now smelled different. Traitor snorted Sunspots, but instantly he turned his attention to the others.

Sunspots tucked his tail between his paws. Miho still smelled like the pack, but her mother didn't. What was happening? Sunspots went after Khaba, not quite knowing what to do

no posting order! <3 and anyone may still hop in!

khaba spoke in denial. zaahira spoke in truth. zharille pushed deeper into the territory.

khusobek was silent.

another wolf joined khaba, and received the brunt of the prince's stare.

his attention, however, returned to the dark betrayer.

"you will cede control of this land back to zharille and those who wish to follow her. and the children of her body are hers, not yours to keep."

the green eyes flickered. "move in peace, khaba, and you will be spared." mercy from the young queen.

like the feral woman, khusobek saw no room for words.

or mercy.

the palace-guard's shoulders flexed heavily; he snorted and shifted, eyeing the second male.

but he did not yet move to strike, a well-trained cog.

Flooding in were wolves on both sides. The young one, Selena's destroyer; nowhere to be seen. But the children of Khaba run for the giantess, their bloodmother, the one who sought them as well as the soil from which they were born. But that was not of importance to Zaahira. Whatever Zharille willed of the lakeside was neither here nor there.
All Zaahira thinks of is her friend, her midnight tryst, her maiden; the one with the harp-like voice and kind chocolate eyes. The one who deserved to be here, the one who was unjustly punished with bloodshed at Khaba's command. A warm body that was now cold, the smell of her blood that lives in the serpent's memory. It would be traumatic for anyone. 
The rage is something that has no description. 
And so when Senmut calls for Khaba's peaceful surrender, Zaahira's own challenge is placed forth. Hackles raise, lips curl into a snarl, tail flagged high above a svelte body. You have none left, Khaba, she seethes through clenched teeth. you let her die.
She steps forward. Surrender. Or you go to Hell.  

Sunspots ruffled his fur and bared his fangs at those wolves. Khaba may have caused the death of his beloved wolf, Selena, but Sunspots felt loyalty to his Alpha.

Every time he saw an unknown wolf, Khaba ended up winning. That would not be the exception. Obey the strong and oppress the weak: that was the code Sunspots had learned.

He would certainly follow the strongest, which, as far as he knew, was Khaba. Digging his claws into the ground, he snarled at the intruders.

it was the sounds of growling that broke racharra's focus on a grasshopper. the strange creature was undisturbed by the conflicts of the beasts that roamed the land, unlike racharra, who turned her gaze to where the adults were. they spoke of things that she was still too young to comprehend. traitor? dead? words whose weight escapes racharra at this moment. her father wouldn't do such things, would he? but is that why mother was gone? her ears flattened against her skull as her gaze couldn't tear away from the gathering of adult wolves. where were her siblings anyway , she pondered. 
racharra, scared that one wrong step would turn the ire of the adult wolves whose blood brewed in rabid fury, trotted over to miho- she yearned for the days the pups were still able to enjoy their youth, instead of wondering if these invaders - these strangers - had it out for their hides.

The stamping of feet alerted Zharille that she had been discovered; but it wasn't by the adults, if any remained. The irregular tempo of the running body had her thinking it was a deer, not a wolf; but no, it was one of her children! Their gait was askew because of their long legs, maybe their excitement. She raised her tail as the girl approached and she crooned an eager little sound, welcoming Miho close.

She wanted to gather the scents from the girl's coat and perhaps mark her with her own, as further insult to Khaba; but where were the others? Zharille made another sound, this one questioning, and she reached to taste the air around Miho's face with great care; wanting the physicality as much as she did the information.

Somewhere along the lakeside, among the trees maybe, were the others.

Escuse me, I had to post so I wouldn't get inactive

Sunspots kept her gaze fixed on all the wolves. There were too many, against him and Khaba. Sunspots looked at Khaba in confusion and tucked his tail between his paws.

He didn't want to fight! Ducking, he scooted to the side and stopped, giving up. If supporting Khaba meant fighting four wolves, then he wouldn't support him.

He wagged his tail and, lowering his head, looked at Senmut.

yea forgive me too, have been busy.

racharra followed miho's trail, avoiding the squabble of the older wolves and hoping her sister would help with easing her worries until her nose once again caught wind of the familiar scent; the distant but forever indistinguishable scent of her mother.

the dark cub stood at a distance once her sight caught that of the woman. her little tail wagged, but she remained put. while it was undeniably the woman who gave life to her, it was different in a way too. unfamiliar. racharra stood silently, unsure of how to approach zharille.