Into deep waters we tread. [Joining]

The mother's heart ached desperately for her children as they lay curled at her stomach, legs occasionally spasming as they lay trapped in the grip of a mobile dream. Despite the innocence of their movements, she could not help but imagine the twitches as the results of rigor mortise, for she and she alone had brought unavoidable war crashing down upon their heads. The widowed behemoth that was Newt would most likely thrive to see blood cascade from the Jupiter's throat and end her life as the Sol had done to her mate. The fact that he'd raped and killed an innumerable amount of individuals would likely mean nothing to the woman. Should a pack fall under Newt's reign, Ludicael would suffer, in one way or another. It was not a mob that Jupiter was afraid of, though--it was an individual that needed only to cross the borders and reach her den to end the lives of her children.



A large volume of splashing noises woke her from her troubled thoughts and immediately her ears pinned against her skull. The maternal she-wolf glanced down at her pups before very carefully rising to her paws, wondering where Mercury had gone off to. Her young ones stirred only momentarily before settling once more, making up for the lack of their mother's warmth by turning to one another. Jupiter slipped quietly from the den, nestled in the middle of the V-shaped intersection of the two rivers as they split toward the sea. And as she exited and turned her gaze behind her, towards the river, her gaze was met by a stranger further upstream, buried in their territory and even moreso lodged in their food supply.



He'd found a rare portion of the river that bore sand on its edges instead of a dropoff of the mangrove's tangled and tall roots. Hackles raised but no snarls emanated from her form--yet. She warily weaved her way through the mangroves so she could catch full sight of him. Though she'd been able to glimpse him from the position of her den, it was unlikely that he'd been able to do the same in his fishing, but she approached with care nonetheless.



Only the water separated them--about twenty yards of it--as she came to the mangrove bank, eyes narrowed. "Hey, you there!" she called, a growl lightly underlying the tones of her voice. "What do you think you're doing?"



"speech"