&thorax.

now the aftermath will ring with songs you've sung

She wasn't sure why she was here. If Thorax was going to be honest with herself, she would have extended the here to the entire land- away from her family, away from any potential titles she could have. But that was a pretty big if, and not one that was going to happen any time soon. She had reason to be here, she reminded herself, or else she wouldn't be. Her family wouldn't have just left her to travel here on her own for nothing, after all. Any remaining doubts are pushed aside with a finalized huff before she continues on her way. Even with the spring, the forest ahead of her is towering and shadowy- and the perfect place to rest while she figures out the specifics of her plan. Or at least, that's what she had thought. A branch snaps surprisingly close by, and while the more reasonable part of Thorax's brain says it was probably something smaller, she's turning to face it. The last thing she wants- needs- is to be caught with her guard down, after all.

html © dante.

Their stride is somewhat sharp, but March waddles alongside them, ferocious as always. Storm-Eye peeps and flutters above her, swinging down in his flight path to land in the space between Lefty's ears, which pulls a sideways smile from the blue-toned wolf. Their position was one that looked more demeaning than it was. Lefty had relative freedom, and all they needed to do was report back to the Armada, to Sirius.

What they hadn't expected was the immediate way their loyalties -- well, not only shifted, but stayed.

This was a place of reasonable demands, after all. Lefty had a quiet order in their mind, and focused on it while they walked, listening to the thunking drag of March's feet. It was the wolverine that made Lefty pause, eyes flicking down to their companion who bristled and sniffed the air and then charged forward, barreling out of the shadows towards Thorax, whose smell she certainly recognized. March slowed, lips curling up, and sniffed demandingly at the other woman.

Lefty drifted from the trees next. "March," she said, voice sharpening, "Settle down." Storm-Eye peeped again from his place between her ears. Lefty looked at Thorax, and there were many things they could have said, but they didn't know what to say, not really, and so they simply said -- "... a surprise." A quiet inhale. Deep. Contemplative. Old pressures rushed back to them, and their ears flicked back slightly. "Welcome to Boreas." What else could they say?

"Speech"

&thorax.

now the aftermath will ring with songs you've sung

The crack of a twig turns into something charging, just as fast as Thorax had turned, and she finds herself grateful for the fact that she hadn't just ignored it. The creature is big, she can tell- and despite the fact that she braces for impact of any sort, it doesn't click that she recognizes the scent- preparation for a battle comes first. It isn't until she sees the wolverine that her preparation for a fight dissipates into pure confusion- although, with the wolverine's bared fangs, Thorax knows better than to get any closer. Another form drifts from the trees behind the wolverine, this one Thorax knows very well, and for a moment she feels as if she's seen a ghost. With the immediate thread of the wolverine- March- gone, Thorax doesn't look away from Lefty. There's something different about the other wolf, and the scent that clings to their fur, and for the first time in her life, anything Thorax wants to say can't leave their jaws. Anything she can think of to say wouldn't be fitting of her. Lefty breaks the silence first, and just like that the unspoken spell on Thorax is broken. She swallows once, heavily, and then finds her voice just as quickly as she had lost it. "I could say the same for you." Cooly polite, despite the way something wants to ask how the other wolf had found this place. When and why she had found it. "You're doing well, I hope?"

html © dante.

Perhaps this should be more awkward, but Lefty's coat smells like a pack. They feel confident. Their confidence may not be entirely earned as of yet, but it is there, intense and deep. Their posture is ... the same as always; slightly inwards, somewhat low-headed and observant, but they cast a glance to March, who snuffles demandingly at Thorax. This time, Lefty simply chuckles, their tail flicking first one way then the other, before they shrug their shoulders and inhale.

"I'm doing well, yes." They take a step forward. Awkward. Here, the confidence falters for a moment-- they do not know if this is too much, they do not know how to handle this situation, they were never taught --

So Lefty simply drifts, then stops. "I'm in a pack called the Armada. It's a good place; I'll be forging my own weapon, soon." Their chest puffs with pride. That is evident. Lefty has something of their own, even if it is carved out in the rank of slave. "I've got friends," they begin, realizing how rather pathetic that sounds, faltering, clearing their throat. "I mean-- well. Actually, yes. I mean what I said. There's an open market there, in Armada, in the Col. If you wanted to look about." Their ears flick. A pause. A breath. Then:

"How... have you been?"

"Speech"