At Dawn As The Rain Beckons [Lyra]

Lyra stood at the edge of Cryer's Ravine, her pale eyes scanning the steep, uneven terrain. The scent of a coming storm hung in the air, and the winds had begun to sway the trees. Her gaze flickered across the landscape, catching a flash of black. Tarnish. She had heard his name before, a packmate,

Without a sound, Lyra began making her way down the ravine. Her lanky form moved with a careful precision that came from practice. Though still growing, her young body was quick to respond. She maneuvered over the loose stones and slippery patches of earth. Tarnish came into clearer view as she approached, pulling a rope with his jaws from the river.

Lyra paused just a short distance away, her white paws resting lightly on the rocks. For a moment, she observed him in silence. Her head slightly tilted, taking in his movements. The way his claws gripped the earth, the tension in his shoulders as he pulled the basket. His thick, wooly pelt seemed almost exaggerated, how different to her own thinner coat and lanky figure.

She stepped closer, the crunch of loose stones beneath her paws announcing her presence. She did not speak immediately. Instead, her gaze shifted from Tarnish to the fishing basket he was pulling in. The water moved and swished around it.

“Storm’s coming,” she said finally, her voice calm and low, just loud enough to carry over the rushing of the river. She didn’t say anything more, her eyes returning to Tarnish. Contuing to watch him as if waiting to see how he would respond to her presence. Lyra was not one to intrude without reason, but curiosity had pulled her here.

Tarnish was one of them, and though they had not met before, he was still a part of the unpredictable chaos she called family. And she needed to know if he could be relied upon, just as she relied on the rest of her kin.




"SPEECH"