Shadow Mountain nor the warrior for her glory

praimfaya takes a different route home than when she departed on her mission to find thade. it is a longer route, chosen, perhaps because, she is returning empty pawed and trying to figure out how she is to break the bad news to mahler — the only news she has. she has found no trace of his missing son and the wolves she's came across offered her no leads. chasing after him was a dead end. a desperate and far flung hope. the shadow mountain is just as lush as she remembers it being from the time in her childhood where her mother took her all up and down this range; teaching her. training her. she spent some time at the stream, cooling off in it's crisp waters only after sating her thirst.

hours later, her fur is mostly dry except for a few patches of fur that remain damp, where the sunlight does not touch it. it is the moment she is about to cut down into sleepy fox hollow that she scents them. at first she thinks she is wrong. she has to be wrong. surely the crazy bitch and her boytoy hadn't relocated on her sunspire? not after how utterly and ridiculously territorial the woman'd been about the ravensblood.

but praimfaya knows her nose isn't wrong. she smells them from the canyon below and her hackles bristle with unbidden hostility. from the peak, the commander of death looms over the canyon yawning below, upper lip curled back. when she suggested that hua and ira do something about them ...she hadn't meant drive them into her homelands. she debates, on whether she should march down there and end the woman's miserable life herself or if she should make haste back to sagtannet to deliver the blow of two separate issues and the fact that she absolutely wanted those wolves out of the sunspire.

hope you dont mind if i drop in!!

donovan had left. off to confront the seelie court, taking their healer, of all people, in tow. an appeal to their better nature, as though that would change the very fact of their presence? renard expected him to come back either bleeding, or not at all.

either way, there were going to be changes that needed to be made. they weren’t keen on letting donovan run them into the ground risking his life treating with their enemies in the vain hope one would be happy to turn their backs long enough to welcome the teeth at their throat.

the south was not the immediate danger; the saints’ enemies came from the north and the west. but, after all, their first invitation had been to sagtannet, and it paid to keep your eyes open. even if the rest were too busy bathing in waterfalls to pay any attention to things going on beyond the border.

the canyon was still visible from the slope of the mountain, a straight line down to the bottom. the saints were noticeable even from here. anyone passing through the sunspires without climbing the sheer cliffs near ravensblood would wander past them eventually – and if they’d ever had a hope of keeping their heads down while they gathered their strength, if the court hadn't caught riley, if donovan hadn't marched off on his ridiculous quest – it was thoroughly gone now.

they suspected the only solution would be the same one as last time, though there was something they could make of it now. three days’ walk to speak with their prey would only cause trouble. far easier to wait for a scattered handful of wolves to come to their canyon, expecting a repeat of ravensblood, and be torn apart instead.

in the meantime, the mountain offered not only an excellent view of the saints’ canyon, but the surrounding streams and copses as well. renard turned, scenting the air through the lingering edge of the saints’ presence, and, thoughtfully, paused.

they hadn’t seen praimfaya in a long while.

not at all! <3

she does not expect the familiar figure that emerges from the canyon side of the squat mountain but when their name sparks to life like the catch of a lighter in her mind she is happy to see him; initially. renard —! she calls out to him in greeting, a certain comrade formed during all of her spars ...even during the one with donovan himself though she detests the female company he keeps. it is his loudmouthed bitch that will be his undoing, she thinks with a scoff, legs carrying her nearer to her once sparring partner. only to jar back as his scent, mixed so throughly with the scent of the saints stops her in her tracks.

praimfaya freezes, hackles bristling with her conclusion as she puts two and two together and fights the wave of ridiculous betrayal she feels. she had hoped renard would make their way to the sunspire but not to fall beneath the saints' reach — and in her mind they shouldn't even be here to begin with.

the amiable disposition she carried melds away to hardened muscles and a cruel twist of her scarred lips. for a moment words, trigedasleng and common fail her and she feels only righteous ire burning beneath her breast. you should not have come to these mountains. the words are not a threat, just a quiet last offering. a chance to find somewhere else to settle because by 'you' she means the saints. they would find nothing but enemies pressing in on their sides ...a movement that she proudly felt responsible for ( whether it was true or not ). she would lead her own one woman army if she needed to.

renard lingered where they stood as she moved towards them. they did not quite feel the same camaraderie after the spar – a test of someone’s talents was nothing but a test of someone’s talents, a learning tool for each. the scars drawn across her throat, right shoulder, and muzzle, extending to frame her eye were not ones they had left; they had not yet had the time to even formulate a question before she came to a sudden stop, hackles bristling.

the message, considering all that had happened, was clear.

some little voice at the back of their head said they ought to feel bad about this, or at least pretend – instead, renard looked across the distance at her, expressionless but for the half-twist of their smile. they could at least do her the courtesy of not pretending otherwise.

her fury could not have been built entirely on rumor, truth or lie. no. this was more…personal than that.

personal enough for her to attack them? renard would, in her place.

but they were a saint.

“what did the saints do to you?” a pause for clarification. “i believe we did something. our leaders have been a little…” dry, now, “reckless.” donovan, nemisis... it felt like an understatement.

she cannot forgive such ruthless actions, uncalled for when diplomacy would've more than sufficed. she certainly doesn't forget. she owes the crazy bitch teeth to the throat, to cut off her air as she desperately gasps for it —

the spirits of the commanders call for it in praimfaya's every drawing breath:

jus drein, jus daun. blood must have blood.

these scars are the handiwork of the woman. she gestures so renard can see them. while i don't mind scars, for she had four of them prior to the fight. over a stupid forest haunted by just two of them that they weren't even at anymore. i will be her ripa. her bringer of death; that was praimfaya's promise.

renards words, however, brings praimfaya to the belief that perhaps there is lack of faith in the leadership of the two. she is quick to seize this, tactician's mind already reeling. any crack in their defenses was a prying point and praimfaya was not afraid of broken, bleeding nails. she would claw the cracking dam open, rock chunk by rock chunk. reckless, the word lilts upon her tongue, is for cubs and yearlings. nevermind that she, herself, is a yearling. but it doesn't feel like it. it has never felt like it. not for leaders. not for wolves who their pack is meant to look to. likely, they know this already but praimfaya presses all the same.

perhaps it was a personal weakness of theirs that they could see the wall in front of them, and boarded the train headed directly at it anyways. it promised to be fascinating, to say the least.

nonetheless. renard did not need to know the meaning of ripa to know what she intended.

“nemisis?” so the saints hurtled towards yet another enemy, born on her actions. a feud she’d created, only to turn tail and run. “you’re right to want justice for her. but i have bad news.” the smile curved into wry amusement. “she’s gone.” if only they’d had a part in that – but to suggest such a hope to praimfaya was to run the risk of it cropping up at the least convenient time.

they’d already admitted too much. she worried at it like a dog with a bone, eager to find the weakness that would crack it apart, as though they didn’t know each in excruciating detail.

if they were a wiser person, they might have taken her up on it. but then, if they were a wiser person, they wouldn’t have left home, and they certainly wouldn’t have thrown their lot in with the saints.

“i don’t disagree. i’m aware of our situation.” as unfortunate as that was. “we’ll see how long it lasts.” one way or another. whether that was the court ripping him apart, whether it was someone else taking the leadership. someone capable of thinking things through once in a while.

names had not been exchanged during her altercation with the woman; only spittle flecked insults sent hurling into the magma of praimfaya's draconian fury. nemisis. though not so different a nature as her own name, praimfaya cannot help her small snort. her name itself eludes confidence ( though in all fairness easily the same could be said for her own ). renard does not argue with her want for justice, and praimfaya realizes that perhaps their agreement comes as a predecessor to soften the blow of what they information they offer her next. she's gone. the promise of revenge, that final battle between them slips from betwixt her grasp like smoke ...never palpable enough for her to grip between her teeth to begin with. at first, praimfaya simply stares at renard, frostbound gaze narrowing.

but what reason did they have to lie? and why would they lie about one of their leaders gone? it was another chink in the saints' armor and with a greediness of an unperturbed and unapologetic worheda praimfaya tucks the information away for safe keeping. or to use to her advantage. at this point, it was hard to tell. in sagtannet she was limited by her position and this becomes achingly and woefully enunciated with each passing day.

why stick it out to the end if you suspect the empire of crumbling? or do you plan a coup? she inquires, knowing that if she were in renard's place that was exactly what she would do. if donovan is smart, she says this with a wistfulness. it really was a shame because she had enjoyed her spar with him and had witnessed his ...kindness, was it? ...with intercepting his bitch though even he struggled to contain her as far as praimfaya could tell.

he will lead you to safer lands. lands where their recklessness hasn't entirely ruined your chances of surviving in these wilds. but if the bed was already made there was naught to do but lie in it.

nemisis had, in herself, been a weakness, and her loss, in renard’s estimation, nothing other than a strength – she was an impulsive, capricious danger to keeping anything together, and those dangers would be answered in blood. it was just a shame she had fled before someone could draw it.

still, renard had to admit, her death would have drawn the saints into a frenzy over the simple insult of it all. it was better this way, where she could do no further damage. at least derg was not likely to be as much of an idiot as his predecessor.

whether that was enough to allow him his position…that remained to be seen.

as with finley, though, they were reluctant to give voice to the suggestion. it wasn’t so much for fear of reprisal – but things balanced on a knife’s edge, and even the suggestion of disloyalty could so easily ruin them. praimfaya wanted the saints gone; whether that would change depending on who was in charge…

they’d done their damage, hadn’t they.

they tipped their muzzle. “why not? i’m curious to see what happens.” if donovan’s feet slipped into the fire, just what kind of survival instinct would kick in? “if he’s smart, he won’t force me to interfere.”

perhaps, would praimfaya have been younger, she might've left her wish for the dispersal of the saints to be a bygone at learning that nemisis left them; but why stop with one? donovan was clearly still a threat ...even to his own subordinates; and praimfaya was much more hardened then her wide-eyed and diplomatic predecessor ...and there is a certain sense of duty and responsibility to the movement she's begun. it was she that began to sew the seeds of discord but the saints leaders had saw that they were well watered and nurtured. it could not be stopped now. praimfaya wouldn't stop. she was not as easily appeased as she'd once been, prior to her ascension.

it seems a bit masochistic to me, praimfaya's lips are terse, frostbound gaze studious, piercing she hopes. when he burns, so too will you all. praimfaya doesn't know, in the hypothetical world where the saints disperse, if packs would take in their stragglers. she knew if given the choice she would offer none of them quarter and if she did it would be as honon in service to her; but that was all her imagination getting ahead of her.

renard knew a lost cause when they saw it. no point in arguing. as was becoming very clear, the saints didn’t make friends; they made enemies. they made more enemies than renard could have even hoped to predict. and it was only smart to make those enemies when you were confident you could handle them, which was, to put things gently, in question. what better reason for a change in management?

but, of course, it still left the opportunity. could donovan handle what he had started? they found no special thrill in leading a coup – it was a waste of time only made essential by incompetence. it was better for all of them if nemisis’ disappearance signaled donovan to set his head on his shoulders and lead, now that the worst of the saints’ distractions were finally removed.

maybe it would even reinforce what he should have known before – not to let his dick direct the saints. the memory of their expedition into the pass still lingered.

what a waste of time.

“doesn’t it,” the words came out more flat observation than agreement. “and are you hoping to count yourself among those responsible?”

a twitch of praimfaya's tail is given, brushing against her hocks as her frostbound gaze lifts from renard to the landscape and flickers back in the next handful of seconds that follow; contemplating his question. did she want the saints gone? from the sunspire, certainly ...but if donovan could prove that nemisis was the source of all the discord they sew then perhaps he yet stood a chance. if nothing improved then she would have no choice but to defend her home. even if she ended up departing from sagtannet she didn't want to take the chance that they would follow like moths to a flame. threats, the commanders of the past whisper like the roar of the ocean in turmoil, are to be extinguished.

if it becomes necessary; yes. praimfaya tells renard straightforwardly. she sees no reason to offer simpering 'maybe's'. not when she means something else. as i said, the saints will find no friends in the sunspire... but perhaps if donovan can prove that nemisis was the sole weaver of chaos and hostility then perhaps the saints may yet stand. or perhaps by the work of her own voice they would fall. the wanheda is not a prophetess. still, praimfaya is not apologetic for warning those close to where the saints had initially intended to settle. unfortunately, instead of chasing them to disband as praimfaya hoped they'd merely chased them into the waiting jaws of the unforgiving sunspire.

the saints had been chased from one home already: it seemed more likely that moving from place to place was what they would become, until donovan wised up enough to pick one enemy without calling down an avalanche on his head. or until something else happened.

which was fine. renard was not exactly attached to the sunspires – the canyon was miserable by anyone’s terms, though at least that made it miserable for both the rest of the pack and for anyone who came traipsing after them. not picking a fight that you couldn’t win was a smart move, particularly when it was over sunbaked sand and rock.

head lifting, renard barked a laugh. of course nemisis wasn’t the sole weaver of chaos and hostility – what a way of putting it. donovan had picked her up and declared her his second hand, which made him just as complicit; the rest of them had seen that and decided to follow – but they'd been straining at the leash and he'd wised up by the end, so who knew? praimfaya could decide that on her own – they hadn’t made the distinction either. it would be an interesting experience for both of them.

another potential threat to add to the list was hardly worth mentioning by now, but mention they would. “that will be up to him, won’t it?” renard inclined their head. “it was good meeting you again.” their smile twisted the corner of their mouth. “a shame about the circumstances.”

so it would seem. praimfaya murmurs in agreement; quieted. she cannot help but think that there was a certain responsibility of the members to not follow donovan so blindly especially if they were aware of what he was doing — as his and nemisis' actions reflected poorly on all of them. there would be no distinction in the end. leadership was the voice and figurehead of the pack and in a war they were all enemies regardless of whether they played a role in the discord caused or not. jus drein, jus daun left no room for mercy.

it is a shame. praimfaya agrees but doesn't offer any sort of apology for her stance. as far as she cares to see: she is justified in her wants. the saints wronged her regardless of whether the crazy bitch that once aided in leading them was gone or not. nemisis had picked a fight with the wrong commander for praimfaya did not forget and she certainly didn't forgive.

with everything said that needed to be and clearly no chance at convincing renard to change their mind, praimfaya offers a last nod of her head with the contemplation of how much longer she will remain civil with the saints now that they are a pack. she needed to return to sagtannet and inform mahler of what has come to transpire on this mountain and what she's learned of thade; or rather what she hasn't learned.

renard was not overly concerned that their association with donovan might taint their relationship with the rest of the wilds. not because it wasn’t a realistic thing to be concerned about. the saints would crumble eventually; things always did. and there would always be someone around to hold a grudge.

they didn’t expect trust, of course. they had none for the saints, and it would be the height of stupidity for anyone to trust them. but they would always be a useful tool in the hands of those who realized it. for now, they enjoyed the job.

praimfaya nodded; as blatant an end to the conversation as any. with one last thoughtful look, renard turned their back. distraction or not, they had a patrol to complete. and there might be something to report to donovan after all.