Phantom Hollow the cover of the wings of grasshoppers

The barest relaxing of her shoulders belies the relief she feels that there is, at least, some good news. Megara dips her muzzle, gaze tracing the ground beneath her for a short moment before returning to Damien. They are most important, she murmurs. She thinks suddenly of her own pups—what she wouldn't give, to see them small again! They matter most.

With a gentle sigh, she rises to her paws, tail sweeping elegantly behind her, as if brushing the dust off a coat she might be wearing in another universe, another existence. Keep me informed, Megara says, her tone brooking no opposition. I want to know where we stand, where the danger could possibly lie.

She isn't altogether confident that Damien will honor this request, but it is one worth making, anyway. For all her years, she is not senile yet, and her experience in these matters may be beneficial to her nephew. She gives him one final nod of farewell and then departs, a shadow on silent patrol.