DEVIL'S BACKBONE

He is there, an emerald-eyed ghost swathed in shadow as he emerges into view. Every muscle tenses and lower jaw cocks ever-so-slightly ajar as she gazes at Kylar in utter disbelief. In her shock she takes but a single step forward, head lowering and neck extending to reach for him from her dismal position. "Kylar," she murmurs, voice strangled. Kylar--one of the few individuals who ever followed her wholly and had never left her or abandoned her like the others. Even when he remained absent for long periods of time, she always knew that if she needed him, if he returned, his loyalty would belong to her. Very few hold the fiery's woman trust more and for an individual to still be here is utterly astounding. She doesn't think that her actions could be misconstrued by the man's wife in her whirlwind of emotions.

Composure regains as she laughs, haunches settling to the earth. Chuckle is low and sad, celestial gaze focusing on him. "Of course," she says with a mock sharpness, "I'm not that old yet, Kylar." She snorts. "Definitely not old enough to forget letting that bastard bleed out at my paws." Voice rolls as but a rumble, eyes narrowing slightly at the memory of him. It brings her a relative amount of joy to know that he is but a memory, a skeleton in a faraway grave. "Rest in pieces, you pitiful bastard." It's a bit of sick and twisted inside joke but she knows that Kylar will understand it. Gaze flicks to the other woman and she smirks.

"Ludicael is a pack of those willing to fight for what they care about and want, rather than preaching peace on a throne of cowardice." A beat. "What of Arcanum?" Professionalism revives instantly as soon as pack relations come back into discussion. It's eerie, how quickly it changes, if not almost a little awkward--how memory and habit from years ago recapture her wholly in the situation.

"speech"