I've done it now, it's too bleedin' late.

How fun would it be to catch a deer right on Elkshire's borders?

Tavra entertained the idea as she slunk around the wisteria woodland, sniggering quietly to herself as she imagined the Queen's face. The morbid streak in her fancied smearing its blood across tree trunks and earth alike, perhaps setting up a creepy shrine in the forest for she and her kind to find. She wondered if it'd unsettle them, if it'd make them heave, though she knew in reality that they'd be livid. To kill a creature of cloven hoof was probably akin to murdering one of Célnes' babes, and the last thing Tavra needed as a nomad was to have another bounty on her head.

So she gave the Crown a wide berth, keen to keep a low profile despite her grim thoughts. Tavra sniffed around, recalling how she'd often patrolled the area on behalf of her former Alphess. It was a land she knew well enough, she felt, though she remained alert for any of Elkshire's own who might take offence to her presence.


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Tavra could hear birds twittering among the canopy above, though she dared not raise her eyes in search of them. To allow her focus to shift would present a moment of opportunity for any stalkers who might be in the area. She needed to be prepared for anything, be it an assault or a simple interception. Having chosen the life of a loner, at least until she could make something worthwhile of her own, Tavra knew she needed to be more careful.

Despite honing her senses on the surroundings, the dragoness was unprepared for the appearance of a greyscale figure. She jumped with a surprise yip on noticing him gawking her way, fur standing on end like a startled cat, and bore her fangs toward him. “Fuck,” she barked, copper eyes narrowed as she studied him from across the distance she wished to maintain. Not only did his sex offend her but he did not look well at all, as was clear from the protruding ribs that stood out clearly from his side. “You sick or something?”

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He barely even moved, just kept gawking at her. His eyes on her triggered something feral within, but Tavra resisted the urge to clack her fangs his way. Should he belong to Elkshire in any way, to make a threat against him could be dangerous in such close proximity to the ground. So the dragoness steeled herself, simmering in her place with a low rumble, metallic gaze fixed to the stranger's scrawny features.

“What the hell is Elkshire?” Tavra asked in response, playing dumb. She knew exactly what Célnes' pack stood for and she would rather gouge her own eyeballs out than assume another of their ranks. Being entirely alone, however, and in the company of this kid whose loyalties were unknown, she dared not admit her former alliance.


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His response surprised her, and as soon as the words left his lips she felt as though a great weight had been lifted from her back. Tavra straightened her posture, content in an instant that this scrawny boy held no allegiance to Célnes and her kin. They were a proud breed, so what elk-worshipper would ever dub another as "heathen".

She could also clearly see that the kid was a freak, too. Tavra wondered if perhaps he'd tried to join the wolves of the Crown and been rejected, and it was his own lust for vengeance that rooted him to their bordering lands.

How long would it be before Célnes dispatched an assassin to eradicate him?

“Lies, huh?” Tavra had experienced that herself, but faked interest, “good thing I ran into you to warn me, then!”

He was fucking creepy. The russet Mayfair had an automatic aversion to religious nuts, but she figured she'd entertain him for a time - especially if he could provide informationthat might prove useful. “I don't plan on finding a pack any time soon, but I'm curious - if you've got a problem with Elkshire, why do you hang around?”


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Tavra had no idea who "He" might be, and she thought she might as well ask. She could pretend to be interested in whatever bullshit the ashen idiot wanted to tell her, but she didn't want to root herself there for any longer than she needed to. Most notably, she couldn't give a flying fuck about whoever he thought controlled him.

She was willing to bet that the voices in his head told him to say or do things.

“So,” the dragoness dared a few steps forward, figuring that the weird kid was of no real threat to her, though she did not want to be too close to him, “tell me more about the Queen's lies. Maybe I can share your warning on my travels.”


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“Oh, I see. 'Tainted and stained'?”

Yep, this one's crazy.

“How do you know all this?”

Absolutely fuckin' crazy.

Tavra lifted her muzzle sharply, flinching a little at a noise off to her left. Copper eyes scanned between the wisteria trunks in search of the source, anxiety blooming in her belly that Elkshire wardens might've spotted her, but it was only a young buck who dragged his antlers through hanging branches.

She huffed a breath, relieved, and returned attention to the sterling youth.


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He was clearly messed up in some way, and Tavra was sure that she detected some scorn in the tone of his voice when he spoke of the "cursed bastards" his mother allegedly replaced him with. She was greatly amused at this, having thought the Queen's first litter were bastards as well. She wondered what made this kid think Célnes' newest brood were beneath him, and was swift to make her own conclusions that he was simply jealous.

A spoiled brat, as she'd long suspected of the Queen's children.

Not wanting to break the act of pretending she was ignorant to all that was Elkshire, Tavra mustered a feigned and sympathetic smile for the boy. “Listen,” she said, “you don't need them. Any of them. You'll do just fine on your own.” Looking at him, scrawny and unkempt, visibly lacking food and sleep and whatever attention he so craved, she wouldn't be surprised if the wilds claimed him over the next few days. “Just 'cause they're family doesn't mean you need to stick around.”


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He sharpened all of a sudden, soured by her feigned interest in his wellbeing, and the wildfire sneered. Maybe his mother had failed She glared up into his stupid grey face, at the sunken orange eyes that stared right back at her, and she bristled at the fucking audacity of him. Seemed it was alright for him to lecture her with all his religious crap, then throw a fit when she attempted to offer an anecdote. “Well,” Tavra started coolly, “now that you've "saved me", you can take your High Elk and shove it right up your shitter.”

He wasn't special. He'd been doomed from the beginning for not fitting the Queen's idea of perfection, then made more so by his idiotic mother's stupid teachings about elk Gods and prophecies meant only to scare puppies. Tavra snorted in amusement as the boy "blessed" her, and boldly pursued him for a brief time with her tail flagged - to show that he hadn't intimidated her, and that she saw through his bullshit. When he did not snap at her or even bark the defensive reaction she sought, the rogue veered away to resume her own prowlings.


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