I found a fire in your shadow.

Tags for reference, all welcome

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From the Western shores, Tavra Mayfair made her way further inland. The russet Mayfair deliberately made her way along a route she knew she hadn't taken before, driven only by a fear of crossing paths with the foul-smelling beast who'd assaulted her just the year before. As much as she despised him, as much as she longed for revenge, Tavra was entirely alone. She was not ready to face him.

Not yet.

Nor did she feel prepared to happen across @Célnes, Queen of Elkshire, though she thought herself far more capable of dealing with that encounter. Tavra had said her piece to the deer-worshipping monarch on more than one occasion, though she'd been especially confident last time round - a boldness bolstered by the river that ran between them. She doubted Her Ladyship would forget that rogue Tavra had dubbed her "psycho".

The distinct scent of a claim stopped the dragoness in her tracks, and she lifted her muzzle to better acquaint herself with it. She did not recognise the pack that made theur home among the ruins, nor was she particularly interested in learning of them. What she was curious about, however, was how they'd managed to settle there without greedy, holier-than-thou neighbours sticking their nose in around their business.

So she lingered on the outskirts despite the threat of rainfall, and hoped that someone would soon take notice of her.


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 The Harbinger does take notice.

 With visits from their neighbors and coyote swill questioning their claim, Madmortigan's days are filled with checking their borders. 

 The sky burgeons above them, clouds pregnant with the possibility of rain, but the black and white male presses on, following the faint scent of another. 

 “Greetings.” He speaks when the she-wolf comes into view. “Welcome to Labyrinthian. How can I help you?”

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She did not have to wait for long.

A stranger approached, and Tavra acknowledged him silently. To anyone else, he might be considered of average stature - but compared to her he was a giant. Her copper eyes swept briefly over his frame, curiously painted in swathes of raven and alabaster. Behind her lips, her fangs were gritted; the stench of any male was enough to make her skin crawl.

She swallowed her inner frustration, and inhaled deep. “Hello,” the dragoness forced a smile, feigning sweetness. “My name is-” a pause, as she hesitated. Would it be wise to tell this guy her name? She was a loner, after all, and doubted that Célnes would've forgiven her for her dispersal to Little Haven - no matter how short that'd been. If she was on good terms with Labyrinthian, they could easily make a prisoner of her. The wolfess cleared her throat, “Kat. I'm sorry to disturb you.”

Her tail gave a soft little wag. “I was just passing through, and I hadn't realised your family had chosen to live here. Are you new to the area?”


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 Diminutive in stature, the compact woman dusts the ground with her tail and hesitates. The Harbinger knows himself to have a particular presence, but he doubts his visage casts such awe to make someone forget their own name.

 “Kat.” He repeats, unaware of the spelling, taking it to mean the animal - designated vermin. He does his best not to hold it against her. 

 “Yes, we woke and settled here not long ago.” He answers easily. “I take it you've been here before it was claimed. Are you familiar with the area?”

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“Not here, specifically, but I'm familiar with the area. I ran with Elkshire for a time,” she offered, even though it nauseated her to think of the discrimination she felt among their guard. Copper eyes lingered silently on the pied wolf's face, and she wondered how Célnes might try to keep him sweet for her advantage - regardless of the alabaster that "tainted" his coat.

He would know of the Queen, surely, even if he hadn't met her personally. Tavra considered how long it'd been since she'd left with Flynn and Meissa, how old her royal brood might be now, but she did not know how much time had passed.

Enough for her crotch fruit to run around wreaking havoc, no doubt.

The russet Mayfair twitched a whisker; “I left to join another group, after the Queen and I had... a difference of opinion, one might observe.” She rolled a slim shoulder, pretending that it didn't bother her, despite the frustration she continued to carry for it. “Have you and your kin found yourselves acquainted with Elkshire yet?”

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 This made his ears swivel and perk with interest. An Elkshire disperser, and a potentially disgruntled one at that. 

 “I have had a few encounters with them so far, yes. The Déorwine clan and doctrine seem to stretch far in these parts.” He added, his tone as neutral as his expression. 

 “May I inquire as to what difference of opinion you had with the queen?” Madmortigan's gaze swept over the petite she-wolf once more, taking note of prominent white along her chest and belly, the pale accents that dotted her ears, tail, and feet. “Did it have something to do with the color of your pelt?”

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She had a feeling that Célnes would've sniffed out any competition as soon as she became aware, and his mention of "a few" interactions sparked her own curiosity. The pied male made no mention of an audience with Her Ladyship herself, and she wondered which of her blind followers she might've sent to check out the neighbours.

Tavra realised, suddenly, that the stranger had not shared his name with her - and just as swiftly she reminded herself that she couldn't give a shit.

She lashed her white-dipped tail, cleared her throat. “You could say that,” her smirk was fleeting; Tavra wanted to believe she'd gotten under Célnes' skin, “she is subtle with her discrimination. Her "guard", which I was part of, was made primarily of those who are pale of fur. ” With bitterness she recalled how the Queen had taken advantage of her as a yearling, fresh into the big wide world and naive to its challenges. She'd have guarded Elkshire with her life, until learning how little her own was worth to the Queen she was expected to protect. The dragoness lifted her chin, “if she has shown you kindness or even acceptance, know that it is false. You'd be wise not to trust Elkshire.”


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 Absolutely a disgruntled disperser, then. 

 “I appreciate your council, Cat.” He replied, doing his best not to stumble over the loathsome moniker. “I will be sure to be careful when dealing with the Elk Queen.” 

 Madmortigan cocked his head, thinking of the small but decisive knowledge he'd gathered about @Célnes and her children. They didn't seem the kind to take rejection well. “Did you part with each other on good terms or did she make leaving difficult for you?”

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He was polite, and didn't treat her like an idiot. Tavra did wonder if his thoughts differed entirely from what he said out loud, as hers oft did. She was bitter and held onto her grudges, eager for revenge, wronged by the world and those in it who were supposed to care for her. It was hard, sometimes, having to remind herself that others had not suffered as she had in her short life.

“I left without telling her. We exchanged words a short time after, but-” she stalled, glanced down. How convenient it was that so soon after that encounter, her body had been assaulted in the worst possible way. Célnes had something to do with that, Tavra suspected. “We shared no pleasantries. Now, I roam - perhaps in time I will make something of my own.”


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 “I have no doubt you'll find success in your endeavors.” Madmortigan replied. “Do you have a mind as to where you'll settle?” Wondering then if she dared take root near her spurned pack.

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“Thanks. Not yet,” the rogue answered, which was only a half truth. There were several places she'd seen, but Tavra was unwilling to commit to one particular area until she'd better mapped the region. Even if she did have her heart set on territory, she would never share that with the likes of Madmortigan.

She couldn't claim land entirely on her own, either. To be a leader was something the dragoness had long craved, but she needed support and backing. Tavra had already created a vision of what soft of pack she wished to rule, and it was up to her to mould and shape it.

For now, however, “I should get going.” Tavra's metallic gaze was cast aside, and she lashed her fox tail, “good luck with your new pack.” She excused herself simply and politely despite how his sex offended her, fir she felt that he might someday come in useful for her.


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