Fallen Soldier

Ghost would move, all four limbs gliding across the Seracian terrain. No emotion would glitter upon the dames face. The phantom had become her namesake, a seemingly emotionless being, save when she was with her pups and when she was alone with Segar. The call would breech her swiveling audits. The death. The death of Octavian. Her stride would falter, the perfect, effortless gait stuttering before resuming its flawless movements. Her direction would alter, her bodice carrying her in a new line. A swell of something sad would crack through her gut, but it would vanish just as quickly. Guilt and sadness held no place in the minds of the damned. However that did not mean she was heartless.

It was difficult for her lips not to curl back in ire at the sight of the king, but she managed. She hated him, but for Segar's sake and her pups she would attempt to reach some kind of medium. Her expression remaining meticulously blank and utterly stoic, she would dip her head to the woman and the king, silvery eyes drifting over the gathered group and ending on Octavian's corpse as she offered her silent condolences. Her jaws would not part and she would not speak. She didn't feel guilty, she didn't feel much of anything at all, sorrow, perhaps, for the loss of a friend, but ever since she had chosen Segar the male had made himself utterly scarce in her life. She hadn't seen him in many a moon.

She would recline to her haunches, tail coiling heedlessly around her flank before lying still. her eyes never left the warriors corpse.