Boartusk Heights Barn owl

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Nymphora, as usual, was antsy and unhappy with her place in her family. Instead she lingered on the rocky flats nearer to the hunters, servents, all unlike her own self.

Bit of irony, trying to fit in with those she prided herself to be above.

Up there, in the rocky spires of the dark palace, she had competition; perfect Valeria, darling son Vincent, beautiful Candela. Down here, she had power, confined to her adolescent body, but power nonetheless. Nowadays, she was beginning to become a real menace. No more puppy teeth, now proper, flesh tearing incisors. If only she had the opportunity to use them.. If @Vincent crossed her path perhaps she would. Much as the two warred, and much as Nymphora would never dare admit, she did gleam some form of twisted enjoyment out of their spats.

This was what they had to bond over. Whichever one could hurl the meanest insult or draw the deepest cut. Was this what siblings were meant to be? Did the other youths also function in opposition to one another?

God, just once, she wanted their mother to look at her, and properly see her, not as 1 of 4, but as Nymphora, the superior daughter and definite heir to the kingdom. This was why she met her siblings with teeth so frequently. Beating them down was the only way to bring herself up to the standards that were set.

But she was frantic. She was undirected. She did not truly know how to fight. She wanted to look upon the newbloods, study the way they practiced and carried themselves.

It humiliated her a little, to know so many of them had skills she did not. All she had was a name. It wasn't nearly enough.

a plan had begun to take fevered, impossible form in agrippina's mind. her shallow densite, scarcely a single room; she had adorned it with trailing moss which veiled the entrance for now. two nondescript pelts formed a pallet. nothing else took form there, but this was her own home at last.

her mother had raised her for things greater than a dirt floor. for these things was agrippina grateful, but her ambition had been watered in several instances.

to the pale child she gave a low bow, bending forelegs in humility. hola. i am agrippina, a new sirviente.

how easily servitude had come to her! how hungry desperation had made her belly and her mind!

there were worse things than this.

and there were better hopes than this. 

if you would like to walk, i could call one of the sangre nueva to escort us, she offered, turning the name in her mind. placed here, there was an opportunity for greater favor.

the irony of mischievous gods, to place ambition against ambition in a hidden game.

Nymph perked as a thin woman came over, bowing in owed reverence—and even that thought on its own was a tiring one. Sirviente, sangre nueva, so easy to dismiss, to degrade; she was above them and oh so seperate. But some realization had stirred in the little spitfire's mind, result of unadmitted loneliness, unspoken dejection; it was the ones below that supplied blood to the heart, kept the place running. 

Oh, power resided here, too. It was this that would become Nymphora's one-up against her siblings, love of the people, or at very least, their loyalty, perhaps later on, their fear. A good queen would begin weaving her ties early. The pale girl flustered a little upon being approached, and quickly straightened her posture to face her, black-tipped ears swivelling forward to catch her words. New sirviente. Hola, Agrippina. It is um.. good to meet you. I am one of the princesses, Nymphora. one of. Miserable.

A walk was offered, and some childish spark flickered across the rosy pink of her eyes; though she was quick to reassume the maturity required for her station. I would like that. Please do. The girl would nod, ivory chest fur puffed up.

princesa nymphora. it is an honor, agrippina said again, dipping into a second bow. this child was not at all unlike her sainted mother, and indeed was one of the first royals she had met aside from la matriarcha.

it seemed the girl was welcoming of her suggestion; ducking her head, the sirviente moved into a position more apt for lady-in-waiting: demurely tucked to the right, two paces back.

heart raced, for there were two choices here, but intrigue had already honeyed the bittersweet.

softly her dove-calling was for @Qvasir.

and she remembered how he had looked upon her at the path. would he see now how silently she moved upon that expression?

eyes downcast, she waited.

qvasir heard her call and wasted no time. his approach was unhurried but deliberate, paws light against the earth as he emerged from the shadows with his usual quiet grace. his amber eyes flicked briefly to agrippina, then shifted to the young princess she had so reverently addressed.

without a word, he came to a halt before the girl, assuming she was royalty, lowering his head in a deep bow. it was a gesture of respect, one rooted in the reverence demanded by her station, yet there was no hesitation in his movement, no artifice in his demeanor. his silence lingered for a moment, allowing the weight of his presence to speak before his words did.

princesa, he murmured, his voice low and steady, the honor is mine. his gaze, steady and measured, lifted briefly, though he remained slightly bowed. he waited, as patient as the earth itself, for whatever command or decree might follow.

*laughs in annoying brother

So Nymphora was thinking of getting cosy with the commoners? Oh, he had to see this.

Vincent had watched from a distance upon a rocky outcrop as his sister stalked through the lower slopes of their home, rising only when another form moved to meet her.

His dark coat blended into the shadows as he sought them out, Nymphora's own pallid visage standing out like a beacon as he closed in on them. Another joined them then, just as the prince stepped out into the open. He had missed the cooing call of the Sirviente, assuming instead the people were flocking to see royalty. Vincent drew himself up tall.

Princesa. A furious bubble of dissatisfaction rose in his chest upon seeing the giant man bow low before his sister, the other woman standing deferentially at her side. Their respect was wasted on such a tiny child. They had no idea the vicious thing that hid behind a facade of civility.

Ears falling back, the prince sauntered towards them, red eyes regarding the shadow and rust-clad male in particular. What a fine beast; when had mother tracked this one down? "Nymphora!" Vincent called, lips pulled into a devious grin. "Finally found you. Mother is looking for you."

what a merry band we all are

The freckled girl nearly paled in the presence of the much larger newblood, hell, how had she not seen this bear get dragged back? Must've been one of the nights she'd spent sharpening her nails in her room and muttering her own grievances to empty cave air. Mother had good eyes for strong company. Maybe she'd order him to beat someone up.

Just as she was ready to give the order to depart, there was suddenly this agitating, grating voice on the wind. Brother. She'd wheel around to see his inky figure slip from the shadows, and her face would fight a grimace in kind, until he said that mother was looking for her.

Really? Her? A flutter of excitement stirred in her chest for a moment; but she quickly buried it, she knew her siblings to be liars. What does she want? She'd ask, keeping on her polite front, much as it nauseated her to do so when talking to Vincent.

love it!

princesita approved of qvasir, as much as agrippina could see. an exhale was given in relief for the completion of this first gambit, and wisely she kept her eyes from the sangre nueva.

but before any further command could come, they were waylaid by another of the children. a proud son of darkness, he proclaimed a stop in the name of their queen mother.

sensing this opportunity slipping like sand through clawmarks, agrippina grasped her daring. in this moment, both young were equal. but in another, the support of servitude, however tacit, might signal a challenge.

he believed himself kingmaker, your father, came mother's voice echoing across memory's hall. but it was i, dear girl. always me. i was the kingmaker.

agrippina saw the fate of such.

"princesa," the sirviente murmured politely in deep daring to cut between them with her lowly voice; "only say it, and we shall escort you to la matriarcha. we should not keep her waiting."

if the boy lied, now he must build around it. and if he did not, how could he deny willing servants accompany them to their palatial realm?

agrippina waited now for wrath or for acceptance.

Qvasir remained silent as the exchange unfolded before him, though his molten gaze shifted thoughtfully between the siblings. The sharpness of their words, the tension brewing beneath their poised facades—it all spoke to dynamics he was no stranger to. The politics of bloodlines often mirrored those of battlefields; alliances, rivalries, and the silent wars fought in glances and calculated remarks.

The towering wolf allowed his expression to remain composed, a fortress against whatever storm might brew next. When Agrippina spoke, cutting through the exchange with an elegant assertion, he dipped his head in quiet approval of her boldness.

Qvasir saw the tone that Agrippina had taken— testing the young heir. He'd wish she'd tread carefully. Though, he had pledged himself to the crown, but it was not his place to be drawn into the skirmishes of its heirs. Still, his posture was resolute, signaling his readiness to follow whatever command came next.

Not even a month ago, Vincent would have blew a raspberry his sister's way as she turned to face him. But now he was older, more mature and so he simply appraised her with a self-assured smirk as she stared back at him with what he knew was concealed but simmering contempt. "I 'unno," he replied with a nonchalant shrug. An anti-climatic end to the charade of a long-winded search for his sister.

One dark ear twisted as the golden-furred woman then murmured to his sister, catching her offer with a frown. "That..." he scoffed, turning to fix her in his gaze. "...won't be necessary, Sirviente." The word fell from his mouth as if it disgusted him to even say it.

He glanced to the other who remained a silent, watchful statue; a prime example of a sentinel, though Vincent wished he could tell what he was thinking beneath his stony expression. He looked back to the girl and women, staring pointedly at Nymphora in challenge.

"I think the dear Princesa can attend to La Matriarca's summons herself."