Ravensblood Forest I Come From The Rocks

Set a couple hours (however long it would take from her to get here from Blackrock, really) after this thread

@Arturo. 

For now, the ashen femme would follow the Leviathan's word -- and that word, for now, was to strengthen the ranks of his allies, where she could gain an inside eye for the man even on his own friends -- because what else was Ishild good for than gathering both trust and information? The raccoon-faced woman was thrilled to do the task itself to stay busy, to earn who knows much more knowledge, but the grand prize, should she do well, would be what she truly wished: power.

And, if she was really lucky, she would spill the blood of any Cairn enemy with her calculated fangs. 

Standing yards from the border, her frame bent into herself to give a less imposing and more compromising stance -- sharp chartreuse eyes scan the area inside curiously, giving her the look of a slightly feral animal, but her slim figure was held neutrally as she tipped her head back and called for the coywolf Ceannasach.

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Reassurance did not come easily to the melanistic coywolf as he walked the borders. The quiet, the lack of outside activity was more startling to him then if there was an influx. Then again, Arturo was a man who schemed and did not find easy relief in silence following a storm. He was too suspicious for that. Given the recent event that had shaken his Family to their core he is even more so, unrelenting and painfully vigilant. Sleep did not come easy to him in the nights following his red herring's murder. He slept better now but it was restless and filled with shadowy and macabre nightmares. He had not thought that Furiosa could be felled. Yet she had fallen. Over time, his confidence would regain it's footing and he would loosen the tight leash he'd placed upon his borders and his Family. For now, he drew small comforts from their vigilance and their efforts to find and bring to justice the red herring's murderer though as of late Arturo felt that they were chasing a ghost.

But Arturo did not believe in ghosts and knew that the murderer was out there. Somewhere.

The call rose upon the borders, a summon and as he moved swiftly, with prowling purpose towards the origin of the call his hackles bristled along his spine. The gangster's pace only slowed when he approached, at first and quick glimpse thinking it was his beloved Lotte. For a moment his heart skipped a beat and then the realization that it was not Lotte sunk in fast and hard. Her voice was not that of his ethereal nightingale's and her pattern and eye color all wrong. The stranger, he noted as he sniffed at the air, his posture tight and dominate as he drew to a halt, allowing his fiery red-orange gaze to study her without reserve that she smelled faintly of Skellige and his wolves. Not enough to be one of them but enough to let him know that she'd been with them, at the very least visiting, before she ventured here.

The gangster did not speak, instead settled for an expectant look that communicated his silent inquiry without making speech a necessity. Who are you? What do you want?

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Ishild did not have to wait long before a svelte coywolf came to her call with hackles raised and a glint in his fiery eyes that would make her skin crawl were she not a Cairn; even so, for the sake of making her job easier, she lowered her tail and bent to her front knees formally and, to some people, submissively. 

              "I'm Ishild Cairn, tactician, sister of Skellige and Szymon -- the Leviathan sent me to strengthen your ranks and I'm willing to give you my loyalty."

Her chartreuse eyes peered up earnestly at Arturo: cunning and warpower-hungry as she was, she was a woman of her word and loyal to the bone. Skellige might've tasked her here, but she really was more than willing to work her way into the pack and earn the trust of the Teaghlaigh wolves.