Shoot it, shoot it out cause they want it, want it now, now

She’d just come from a good, thorough bath in a stream when a distant howl sent ice coiling through her veins. Not fear, but that feral, cold, cold rage. Her coat stood out along her back in damp spikes, before her son’s voice called for the pack. She tempered the chill in her veins, teeth grinding softly as she trotted to her son’s voice, eyes glazed with that strange ice.

Her son’s features were almost serene, but she recognized that chill in his eyes. He was primed, ready, and she listened, along with any others that made it in time to hear him directly, nodding and turning to send Loshir off to spread the message to any of the pack who hadn’t heard directly before setting off on her son’s trail.

The black mountain lion wasn’t pleased to have his aging charge going to the battlefield without him, even as an observer, but the cat did as he was told.

The former Queen settled into place in the Valhallan supporters’ side, eyes piercing the wolf that had no true regard for the lives she was threatening to disrupt. Her features were a bland, serene mask, however— a pillar of calm moonlight to stand strong with Valhalla and for her son and King.

Those outside her own people she ignored, merely watching as the battle unfolded before them.

Walk ---- "Speak" ---- "Labhair an Sean-Teanga." ---- "Hear" ---- Think