'It's just a title, one I didn't even do anything to earn.'

A title. A name, passed from one to another like an heirloom, proven by lineage rather than merit. Takala turned the thought over in her mind. How could one earn the title of Prince? The stories of old had always spoken of birthrights, of bloodlines stretching long before one's first breath. Yet, even if Francis had lied, even if his words were hollow, there was no mistaking the way he carried himself.

Dignified. Poised.

Not a savage beast.

Her family must have seemed like barbarians by comparison. The thought curled at the edge of her lips, amused her in some quiet, distant way.

"I think you'd be a good prince, earned or not,"

The words left her in a hurried murmur, softer than she’d intended, and she startled at the sweetness. Foolish, careless. She pivoted the subject, quick as ever.

'...it's mountainous, cold. Everyone is a lot more... forward than you, Francis.'

He laughed. Warm and comforting to her ears.

'Forgive me, Miss Takala. I am not sure I've ever been accused of being subtle before.'

She blinked, caught off guard. Were all nobles like this? Measured in their speech, graceful in their bearing? Questions scattered through her mind, dizzying, impossible to organize, slipping through her grasp before she could make sense of them. A beat, then—

"Maybe I can meet this 'Imperium Aurum' someday. Or maybe they'd hate me for being an undignified, savage animal."

She chuckled, but its ring was dry, half-hearted. Her, in the presence of other noble wolves? Impossibly embarrassing. Not to mention that her priority was to find her family. That had never wavered. But still.

There was something about him, about the way he spoke, about the world he came from. A peculiar draw, something foreign, locked away. There was something so peculiar about his mannerisms that it left her with a nagging curiosity. Did this land hold secrets, too? Were there others like him? Nobles, or even peasants like herself?

But it didn't matter. Not truly.

No pull, no curiosity, no intrigue outweighed the singular, ceaseless ushering her home.

'There were no 'sheep' back home, though. What are we looking for? Is it like a deer or more like a hare?'
'More like a deer, but shorter, squatter, and covered in white wool.'

'Wool'? The word stopped her. Before she could ask, his voice cut in, half-hushed with sudden urgency.

'It's...their pelts are— Ah, there.'

Her gaze snapped toward the valley, scanning, searching—
And there it was.

Odd-looking. Short, broad, and thick with a coat that made it seem twice its size. Her brows furrowed, perplexed.
It was ugly.
But then she caught the shift in Francis’ posture, the tension in his frame, and instinct took hold.

She mirrored him.

A breath. A pause. Then—

The lavender she-wolf swallowed, clearing her throat in the quietest way she could manage.

"I've... never hunted one of these before, but... I'm a runner. I can chase it if you have the brawn to take it down?"

Her voice tilted, uncertain, the admission heavier than she liked. Normally, she knew exactly where to strike. Deer, elk, caribou… her world had been built around them, each movement a polished formula, each hunt a practiced step in an old and familiar dance.

But this?

This was unknown. The prey was different. Its mannerisms were similar on the surface, chewing mindlessly on grass. It adorned no horns. So, female, perhaps? Or was this the peculiarities of a sheep? The equation was missing too many variables. And yet, her resolve remained, driven by instinct. As long as he was strong, she could tire the beast. Seemed simple enough.

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note: sorry for all the retroactive dialogue!!