Fly Me to the Moon

Satira giggled when Mortis lifted her like she weighed absolutely nothing, planting her securely between his shoulders and in the scruff of his fur. The tiny girl grabbed onto his scruff as she was so used to doing with all the adults that carried her around—but no other adult was like Mortis. If riding Grandpa Seer had been like riding a noble steed, then Mortis was a fancy royal chariot. He brought one of those amazing giant wings up to boop the end of her snoot, earning a bright bout of laughter from the little pup. Off they went, trotting across the plains of the Armada in the fading twilight. Tira loved the sight of the world from up high, gazing around at all the land her family owned. It made her feel special, powerful, important. Maybe one day she'd held rule all of this, like how her mother helped her grandfather. Reaper Satira did have a nice ring to it...

It didn't take long for the two wolves to arrive at a large, old tree right at the edge of their territory, and peering up through the branches, Tira could spy a structure nestled in its canopy. Mortis asked if she was ready, and Satira gave a happy yap in response. "I'm ready! Let's go!" she exclaimed, tapping her paws impatiently against the back of the dire wolf's neck.

"Satira Fatalis"