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It was not N​ó​ttin, alone, who heeded this call. His bride-to-be would accompany him through the dark shadows of the dawn. No matter how hard the sun tried to shine through, the haze swallowed it, ever-present. For a brief time, they'd been relieved of the subjects of the plague, but it'd made its full roundabout, and here they stood, under the dimmed light, gathered in Dawnbreak's center, readying for a reelection.

It had been a while since they'd had one, but so much had occurred between then and now. As they stand there, she looks up to her Glacier, N​ó​ttin, remembering the fear that had embodied her the first time he'd run for the election — and how she'd felt so bad for voting for her heart's truth; Euphemia, instead of her lover. Though now, she is curious to see if Euph casts herself in again for the vote. But a part of her wonders what N​ó​ttin would fill his time with then.

Brynhild speaks up for the headstone of the Power pillar, and the spotted dove cast a look her way, seeing the way her muscles bulged underneath the twanty and cream fur. Though smaller than Tibbi, that didn't account for much. She'd seen smaller animals take on wolves and win. Periwinkle eyes flicker to the Bull, who currently claims the top, wondering where her mind was, and if she'd be willing to take on an apprenticeship or if she'd vote her in.