Ankyra Sound no sorrow or pity for leaving i feel

rosalyn was gone. 

or perhaps, the better word to use was “missing”. 

it was @Erzulie who noticed first the disappearance of her lover, and ever suspicious the sylph face heel after the cinnamon painted woman, her eyes narrowed in distrust and ears keenly at attention. 

the first step was to find the most recent evidence of rosalyn’s scent here - with her head down, caiaphas nosed with fervor along the moss-strewn floor of the forest.

if caiaphas understood the bond between erzulie and rosalyn, she had said nothing. perhaps it was not of merit to her, and for that the jezebel was grateful. fear drove her now, into the cold emerald embrace of the vicious forest. her pirate had not come home, and even with illidan's graceful company to distract her, the suspicions grew harsher all the same.
"anyt'ing yet?" she inquired gently, without a true tone of hope to her voice, when she looped back to where the siren queen searched too for rosalyn's trail.

her nose didn’t turn up much. scents here and there confused the clarity of the one scent she hounded for. 

as she browsed the selection of poorly laid tracks and scents, erzulie came alongside her. with a frown the sylph shook her head in response to the query - nothing here save damp earth and moss. perhaps if they went a little further - towards where the trees thinned and the tangle loomed.

nothing. she was unable to hide the muscle that clenched in her jaw, but ranged at the witch's side toward the clearer part of the forest, where it began to give way. if drageda had killed her, they would know it; there would be some sign. her heart gripped with a firmer dread than before, erzulie set her muzzle again to take in the gathered scents here.

a feeling of prickly dislike for the situation they found themselves in snakes around caiaphas. it seemed strange for Rosalyn to leave unannounced- in the sylph’s eyes the woman was the type to make her leave known — and spit in your eye in the process. 

musing over this inconsistency, it was then she detected a tendril of rosalyn’s scent. she motioned for erzulie to come to confirm, and then trailed after it with suspense brimming in each step.

rosalyn would not have left, no — not abandonment. erzulie knew this as surely as she knew the woman's heart, and when caiaphas beckoned her closer, the woman's heart sank in her honeycream chest. here, the scent of her lover, and it strengthened as the two wolfesses pressed on along its ribbon's edge.
when it began to mingle with drageda, erzulie's hackles slowly reared.

she too caught the troubling scent that darkened the waters — as she glanced around, it was difficult to tell what had transpired — but caiaphas knew the scent of the marauder that intermingled with rosalyn’s tracks. 

ironically, that very same wolf had been present the last time caiaphas had come across rosalyn in the wilds. 

her fur too stood on end. she looked to the copper-cream harlot, her face grim. not good.

not good.
erzulie could not recall the last time that she had wept, truly wept, and she would not now. not here, not before caiaphas. but grief trailed its cold fingertips along the strings of her heart, and she swallowed the burgeoning lump in her throat. "have dey taken her, den?" she asked. it was the only logical alternative to murder, for as far as she was able to see, rosalyn's body was not here.

her lips pursed in a thoughtful frown. the snow beneath their feet, interrupted in some places by bald rags of barren earth, showed enough of a story -- as for the nature of that story, or why it had happened, the pair would likely never know. yet the prints and the scuffle were cleanly decipherable -- and rosalyn's scent was fresh here.

her expression fell to grave contemplation, and the frown withered away. "i've encountered this scent before." she thought back on the day rosalyn had disappointingly not delivered -- how different things would be if the russet woman had understood caiaphas' (albeit cryptic) egging, and turned against the dark-furred woman alongside her. moment's ruined, indeed.

"that is drageda - and that is rosalyn. we can follow.. or think of what to do." her tail flicked as she thought, not unlike the twitch of a pondering cat. "if she is not dead, that means she has value alive. what use is she for these wolves, do you know?"

caiaphas pointed out the scents; for a long moment, erzulie closed her two-toned eyes. "no," in response to the witch's inquiry. "rosalyn has more enemies den i know, it seems." her tone was grim — she could only hope that her lover still lived, and would be kept alive.
"she was taken to get us off de lan', i suspect," the harlot went on, teeth clicking together on the last syllable. rosalyn, what had she done?

the chai-hued wolf's eyes closed, mint green briefly eclipsed by copper. caiaphas frowned at the answer - not good, indeed. to her, it seemed a terribly useless effort -- and it was disappointing in some way to see the scuffle appeared bloodless. had the russet woman not fought back, the furious will of survival hot at her throat?

in any event, it did little good to contemplate while out in the open, vulnerable. this meant more to caiaphas than simply bad neighbors -- this meant the wolves would go so far as to sow enmity in those that lived alongside them. she did not respond to erzulie's edict, though she believed it -- instead she threw back her head in a howl for her children - so that they may reconvene later that night, and discuss the unpleasant news of rosalyn's disappearance.

unpleasant business for an unpleasant life. caiaphas felt her teeth set on edge as she and erzulie made for the grotto - she would reflect in the stony depths on their next course of action, while erzulie spread the grim news to her children.