Stavanger Bay champions of the just

@Kraken

She's marking the entrance to the Bay again, spurred by the recent scents of others within. She'd steered clear of the group when they'd been here, far from eager for a confrontation while the Keep's numbers are still so low, but it'd set her blood boiling. The Champion has always been a proud creature, possessive of the few things she considers truly hers — and Stavanger Bay has quickly become one of those things, if only because her queen chose it. She stops to mark along a tree, glancing around for any sign of disturbance. At the very least, it seems the visitors have left the land mostly untouched.

Spring was swiftly encroaching and still, her season hadn't come.  It was stupid to hope.  Better that it withered away, that she enjoy her aging in peace.  But she felt disappointment bitter in her throat and traveled, this time alone, back along the coast and towards the bay.

Nostalgia led her steps, but when she arrived, it was to find fresh marks on the borders of the lands she'd once claimed.  The smell of it curdled in her throat, mingling with the disappointment already there to turn her mood rather sour.  She'd tested fate, it seemed, by opening her mouth on their last visit.  Someone, somewhere, was laughing over this.

As another wolf came into view, Rosalyn's fur lifted.  She and Erzulie had no claim here, and no real plans either... but the thought had remained somehow, maybe, Ironsea could be their home again.  Having the possibility snatched from her so abruptly cut deep, and her gaze on the woman who approached was far from kind.

Perhaps it was best she leave.

BIG EYES

The woman's approach draws her attention quickly, and she looks up in time to see the spike of hackles rising, the cold glitter of mismatched eyes set in a scarred, aging face. The eyes capture her focus for a moment, and her own go wide. In a rare moment of shock, she forgets to respond to the clear aggression; all she registers is the eyes, not the scars or the auburn fur, the differences in build and posture. She knows those eyes. You — But then she sees the rest, and her expression falls, betraying her own bitter disappointment for a half-beat despite the impossibility of what she'd half-hoped for a second. She wipes the emotion from her face quickly, feeling foolish, and throws herself into her duty. Welcome all, harm none; Valyri's motto, which she must make her own if she is to be the queen's champion. At least until the first flash of teeth.
My apologies, I — mistook you. Welcome t'Stavanger Bay, m'lady. Lookin' for somethin'? She's a little surprised at first by how steady her voice is, but she slips back into her confidence quickly, posture straightening a little as she takes in the rest of the stranger's appearance. Her wariness is clear, but for now she remains open, and as friendly as she can manage given the current circumstances. Her pride screams that she isn't meant for this, that she ought to skip the pleasantries and show the old lady the door, but she knows she must try for Valyri.

Rosalyn had come here already in a mood and this was doing nothing to ease it.  She wasn't aggressive, not yet... but nothing about her spoke friend.  She wondered briefly who she might be mistaken for, but dismissed it... there were no doubt shit loads of russet wolves within these wilds.  Her scars would make short work of the difference.

You welcome me as if you own this place, she answered, chosing to chase this second thread instead.  But I do not scent a pack here.  Just a couple wolves keen on setting boundaries.

Bounds they could enforce?  Her eye betrayed her skepticism.