3/21/2025, 1:39 AM
Solulfur didn't catch the scent of the Matriarch right away - her nose was filled with the scent of rabbit, death and the mingled scents of Avon faint beneath the tang of blood. She was enjoying her morning walk, though; Avon's land even in winter was beautiful, and an interesting change of pace from the peaks of Solulfur's home base. The fra Nordri had a fierce and personal affection for the Frostfang's alpine forests, crisp snowmelt pools, and challenging stone and ice peaks; but this meadow held a more quiet peace to it, without being the almost unpleasantly open moors to the east.
Something as blush-toned as the dawn sparkling across the snow and lining the tree-trunks began to approach in the distance, and the fra Nordri's keen eye caught it. She was enjoying her walk, but no part of her mind would allow her to forget for a moment that she was amongst foreigner's territory, and that she must remain on alert.
Sol wondered, briefly, when the tumultuous events of her youth would finally cease their hold over her soul, before putting those thoughts out of her mind. It was Fable who'd found her first, it seemed. Solulfur wondered if it was by chance, or if the wolves using the loose borders that marked the space between Avon and Dawnbreak were being more closely monitored than she'd expected. Sol couldn't ask that outright, though, so she put a pin in it and turned her full attention toward the tall, wavy-furred woman. Solulfur dropped the hare at her paws and swished her tail amicably, promptly being struck in the face with a springtime melody of citrus, floral scents that belonged to Avon's leader. One of them, anyway.
It is, indeed.Solulfur replied smoothly. Her memories of Fable were few - a hazy blur of a large, honey-and-lavender smelling whirlwind of drunkenness loudly embracing the Shakti-Vaes sisters at a festival remained, although any clear memories had been blurred by the immediate efforts of Solulfur to give herself alcohol poisoning, or at least the worst hangover she'd ever had - blissfully unaware of the after-effects of such things, and also unaware of her own tolerance or lack thereof.
Are you on a morning patrol, Fable? I would be happy to join you, if you wanted company.Solulfur tilted her head slightly, tapping into that well of charisma she knew she had, but often failed to utilize.
Ominous, intense focus had gotten her further for the most part, but she had seen the effectiveness of her mother's sly mind and silver tongue on many occasions.
