The Howls of War

For any, NF only. Set during this.

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She would follow the scent of Ragnar and Freya. Already she knew them to be hours from her and a whine slips from parted jaws as she pants with an anxiousness. Sindri expected the worst. She expected an ambush. Whilst Ragnar remained hopefully for @Olive and @Valeska and the packs they governed, Sindri's trust in them had wavered. After all, allies were supposed to support one another, help and protect one another. Not question their motives, not keep them from their wants, especially as dire as this.

Ragnar blamed it on their fear, the fear of death. One which he and Sindri did not possess. One which @Ghidorah, @Chantico and @Freya did not possess, for their life mortal lives were just a blink of an eye for them. Another chapter to their story, not the whole book. Sindri still imagined, even with such fears, Duskguard and Elysium did not have to send warriors who did not wish to fight. It would have been enough to send healers and grave diggers for those wounded or killed there after. Still, even this was not offered.

Sindri sighed. She paced. She waited. Her command to those under her had been given. She directed those whom wished to fight to be on guard. They were to split their numbers- some to wait here in the south-east of the Moors with her. Some to stay at their borders. Some to scout the Brim, looking for any Dragonford wolves who might be attempting a secret move on them. Whatever happened, they would be ready for it.
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Crunch, 
Flowers crushed under heavy-weighted paw.

Crunch.

Petals stamped into luscious, evergreen grass.

He was seething. He was angry.

Burning like wildfire, it spread through his veins quickly. His mind raced and a scowl flashed over stormy eyes. He did not want to be stationed at home. He wanted to see the action first hand. He wanted to see the blue bitch's face as the sentence was swung upon her. He wanted to make sure that she would be punished correctly. In his opinion, there should not have been any trial; a life for a life. 

Yes. He wanted to see the life drain from her eyes, just like she had done with his sister.

His strides were a powerful assault upon the idyllic wildflowers that bloomed upon the Moors. He did not care, not in this state. Muscles rippled under his fine, dusty golden pelt and those eyes. Oh, those bright eyes soured every inch of the Moors. He wished upon all the gods for retribution... for a member of Dragonford to dare. 

He was ready.

And yet, just as his heart dared to quicken at the glimpse of a figure, he was left void and disappointed. 

"móðir" He called, in their native tongue.

@Sindri
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The great god had followed the others to the Moors, his heavy steps thumping along the thick grasslands painted with flowers. He’s late to the party though, having heard the call and been hunting, he finished what he was doing before making his way over. He heard today was the day of trial for the fake dragoness — judgement day — even though Northfall had already sealed her fate. Trial or not, she will die by their teeth. Because despite Ghidorah knowing little to nothing about their allies who will be hosting such trial, he doubts in their decision to strictly sentence the woman to death. And that will be the only form of sufficient payment.

Hell, Ghidorah doesn’t even think their should’ve been a trial at all, and yet, here they are…waiting, waiting, waiting…and for what? For that woman to get off with a punishment that isn’t equivalent to that of death? Nah, that’s not Ghidorah’s style.

So those thoughts in mind, he finally pulls up to find Sindri and another male he does not know — or is not entirely familiar with. Either way, he swaggers up to them both with a steely confidence, immediately taking in the vibe of the room. He sees the fire in the other man’s eyes — oh he’s mad. Good. Makes for a good fighter. But Sindri though? He watches her pace and pace. Is she nervous? Probably. Seems like it.

He’d saunter up to her confidently, shamelessly moving right past the other man and right for the pale Sindri. Brushing against her side and standing in her way to prevent her from walking any further. A devilish smirk makes its way to his face, a look of bloodthirsty certainty meant to comfort.

“Sindri,” He starts low and rumbling. “the trial will play and if she does not get the punishment deserving of her crimes, I will kill her myself.” He hums, blatant and sure — a deathly promise. Looking down at her, he moves his eyes to the horizon. “Everything will be just fine.” Is his confident ending statement, cocksure and malicious, thinking of all the ways he’d flay the dragoness with his teeth.
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