Bright Moon - a land sullied by mystery and the ravaging scars of a terrible fire. Abandoned as a pack land for years, the terra has been used as a gathering place for the brazen and bloodthirsty drawn there by the lingering pall of death. Yet from the ashes there comes an unordained phoenix, the rainbow hues of hope glinting in her mismatched globes. Through the obsidian drapes obscuring the scenery, she alone was able to catch the perfumed aroma of new life on the breeze and hear the sluggish streams flowing ever swifter into the morning.

Thus, with a purpose, she set out to map the incognita, discovering daily the extent of the reawakening and unearthing within herself a desire to return the landscape to its former glory. Now she stands tall as privileged Alpha of the lands, lording over the rock-strewn prairie and bountiful forests with a firm but gentle paw.

Having finally realized her deepest longing to be a queen, Satowra is focused solely on the revival and maintenance of the Bright Moon Pack. Her question to each prospective warrior that comes to the border is simple:

"Do you have what it takes?"

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As he braced himself before, he was stopped by an irritable thought spoken aloud by the she-wolf. He stared at her for a moment, but once again tried to prepare himself for his response, trying to ignore the apology that Venga stumbled over. She actually threw him off-guard! Not only that, but his theory was floundering, now, though it was minimally plausible that it could stand. More nervous than before, he quashed it down and tried to introduce himself politely and detached and purposeful as possible. What other way was there but informality, oft frowned upon?

The apprehensive teen didn’t have to wait long. After a pause detached enough for silence to be registered, Venga replied. Very informally. And gently, as though she were talking to something very fragile. There was simply no other way to describe it. And, despite the less-considerate form of language supposing to be more accessible, there was obviously a huge flaw that excluded all of the concepts that she was really trying to convey. Either she was telling him that formality was frowned on, he would feel safe there, yet it would also feel like home, which he was sure was a paradox, or he was an idiot.

Warrior was an idiot. There was simply no other explanation. And now he think of it, perhaps the gentle tone was because she knew that she was talking to an idiot. But no matter, because there was one thing that he could understand from that. He was in. Thank goodness. He had been expecting some huge rite of passage or trial of… something, in order for him, who was young, but not mind-meltingly-cute, to join Bright Moon. Venga had an unfamiliar expression on her face, and stepped aside to gesture that it was okay to cross. Oh, right. It didn’t occur to him. For some reason, he felt as though he were still being tested, quizzed, analyzed, and he found that he had to deliberately loosen his tense muscles again before he could walk normally over the border of not-yet-familiar smells.

And once he had started, he noticed the smile emerge onto her features again. Why? Why was she smiling? He stopped, quiet inquiry in his expression, terror in his thoughts. Did he do something wrong? Was she laughing at him because he believed her, and he just failed because he did? He would have expected that, actually, but her voice was back to the way it had been originally, and her answer didn’t say any of the such. She offered assistance, and to be a tour.

Yes. Yes, he would like a tour! He had to know the land so that he wouldn't go anywhere he wasn't supposed to, so that he could be wherever he was supposed to be without getting lost! He started to nod, but then realized that she would want an actual verbal answer. A specific one. “Er, um,” Warrior was privately horrified at himself for his verbal pauses, and that he had used not just one, but two. He struggled to regain his momentum. “E-excuse me, but, I would be very glad if…. If you could show me around, Miss Venga.” That would have to do. And, hopefully, her suggestion for informal language really wasn’t a joke, still stood, and he wouldn’t get his head bitten off for such ungainly speech.

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