Luneshale Pass at the serpent's behest

castel sets out at first light, slipping quietly from leto’s quarters while dawn still clings to the horizon. his body carries the lingering ache of last night’s indulgence, but the memory stirs a flicker of satisfaction rather than regret. he’s done what he came to do—gained his foothold in verapaz—and now he’s tasked with more.

the words of @Soto guide him north, toward luneshale pass.

he walks alone, the sun climbing behind him, painting his sandy-red pelt in gold. the wind kicks up now and then, stinging his nose with dust and grit, but he presses on. over the dunes, through rocky flats, and up the gentle slopes that funnel into luneshale’s winding corridor.

over the lip that'd drop him into the pass proper -- she comes rolling down, a ball of spittle and snarls, in deadly tango with an emaciated fox.

neither bitch nor vixen notice their third, busy being a blur of anger as they come down the slope in a dustball of motion.

castel halts at the crest of the ridge, amber eyes narrowing as the scene unfolds below. a whirlwind of snarls and dust tumbles down the slope, the scuffle loud and furious.

she’s not a wolf. that much is clear. her build is strange, stocky, and her face... it’s almost grotesque, the loose folds of skin twisting with every movement. castel stares, caught between surprise and amusement. what the hell is that?

castel stays where he is, perched above them on the ridge. there’s no rush to intervene. he snorts softly, leaning forward just enough to get a better view. qué espectáculo... he mutters to himself.