She finds their presence… unsettling. The tension is palpable as it rises between savage sisters and the trespassers. Words were of little consequence when it came to the second royal daughter of Asteraia and she would like it no other way. After all, judging by their facial expressions when they were speaking, it seemed like they were spewing nothing more than featherbrained threats. But she remains at her sister’s hindquarters as she watches on with bated breath – ready for whenever their senseless talk is finished and the true threat should reveal itself. Though she was growing tired of waiting out their game of speeches.

The air around them was shifting and as they blathered on Gehenna was perhaps the only one who noticed the slightest changes. The temperature had dropped significantly and the clouds were thickening, the wind beginning to pick up in strength as it flew in from the north. She did not know what all of this meant because she had never experienced it before but her instincts told her that it was not good. That perhaps something more threatening than trespassers were coming. The full force of winter was bearing down upon Asteraia’s door and yet they cared more for well-placed words to see who can out-talk the other.

The presence of another lingered on the brim of her senses; the wind did not pick up his scent but she felt him there, lingering in the brush just behind them. She felt his eyes upon her and the others. It made the hairs upon her nape rise into a warning flag of black and white but this other seemed be of less concern than the two before her. Teal and black eyes flicker to Widow as her lips raise in a snarl and it is then that Gehenna can wait no longer. She has let their game play out for long enough and now it will be time for recompense.

She raises from her reclined position slowly, hackles still raised, and moves to stalk around them both as winter winds ruffle her tri-colored coat. Predatory eyes linger heavily upon the red-eared one with the smug expression forever plastered across his face and it is when she comes around to his hind side that she lunges in and aims her jaws toward his neck. He is larger by a fraction but size has not ever mattered to the silent child and she aims to pin him to the ground with the luck of surprise and sheer ferocity. At least all of the ferocity that a nearly one year old could muster. Still, it is fine practice for what tasks she must complete in her coming days and she will savor this moment of beautiful hostility for as long as she can. Should he be quicker than she would imagine, she would bend to follow his moment and snap at whatever she would be able to grab, grappling on to slowly bring him down like the peccant child he is.