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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 photo Japalac_zpsbe3fd968.jpg
Her sigh slit something in him; an insidious thing that sought out his arteries and slowly, painfully, drew across them the bitter knife of fate. The shake of her head served only to incense Japalac’s concern; he wanted desperately to stop that heavy pendulum that broke Venga’s shoulders. His scrutiny of her, so obvious when done so innocently, thought that it caught the etch of a smile on her lip, but it was gone just as quickly. In that moment, what beauty, impossible serenity! his fur blushed with an unspoken happiness.

He wanted only to feel that smile again.

The words that came from her felt not to be forced, but an unconscious slip of the honest truth. The monotonous voice was bruised with an inexplicable sadness, dancing on the same bit of air that might’ve once sustained the reason for such pain. He wanted to shudder, to try and rid himself of the dread that was rising like bile in his throat and boiling in his heart, but her eyes were burning into his, and he found that he could not look away.

The closer he leaned, the more these feelings shed; Japalac felt protective of her, he would not dare show any weakness. Venga stepped towards him, he knew more from how different the nearness felt than her actual physical movement. His gaze, on returning towards hers from the sky, beheld pearly tears raining down the curve of her maw. This maw, the burden of so many words, dropped open and grated closed in suspenseful moments; she was choking and mute.

The male stepped closer to her, rising subconsciously, pushing against the air between them, which felt so thick and demanding in his yearning to comfort her. The pallid queen spoke, a harsh whisper that he only understood the beginning of, the end decorated in a language foreign to him. He could’ve laughed if he could think of anything right now but his concern for Venga. “My name...” he murmured, “...is Japalac.” He risked placing his nose under her chin, pushing at the maw gently until it hinged closed, holding his head low but in a position to support hers, should it drop again. “Do not cry. Remember, mourn, suffer, but do not cry.”

There was a second, in which his mind drifted in thought, tossing around the reason for why he was there in his mind. All his reservations seemed silly now, and it was with confidence that he stated in a rich, low voice. “You are not alone, anymore.”





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