The news had come from Basilisk, instead of Sirius. The conversation with Bas still fresh in her mind, still stinging more than she'd like, though she'd forgiven him. She'd forgiven him, and she was moving on. There were more than enough things to be stressed about, as it was. Still, the call from the Warlord was one Hazel anticipated all the same.
A warm, picturesque, late summer day hung around their shoulders. She couldn't have chosen a prettier one. Sirius's call draws her to the Obelisk, prompt and bright-eyed. He looks all the same as he always has, but... old. Old, too. Hazel's smile is light, relaxed, as her gaze lands on the Warlord. Tail wagging loosely at her haunches, the girl approaches. "Sir," she gives a nod, a smile.
