salt in the wound

Sleep had not been the Warlord's friend for a long time now. He filled many of his sleepless nights with patrols, and he sailed silently through the woods. He’d caught the scent of a wolf along his borders. Back and forth, fading and growing as if they had stalked along his land. It was enough to put his guard up, and when Marshal came on silent wings to alert him of the trespass, he was ready.

He followed the raptor through the trees, until he found the undergrowth the girl was attempting to move through. He came to a stop at the end of the growth where the girls would have to stick her head out to proceed any further, and he waited. Her scent was not entirely unfamiliar to him, but he could not place where he had caught it before.


"Speech"