I have followed the scent to the borders of the plain, following it closely through the free lands and tasting the... peculiarity within it. It is the same and yet not, distinctly familiar and all too uncanny. I have smelt the bitterness of it before, and its scent makes the winter within me recoil in protest. I know it well and I know it is time to come to her. I want to see the culmination of my efforts in the flesh. Part of me wishes to see what it might look like within her, if this scent of hers presents itself differently in the blood and the flesh, but another part begs to differ. It wonders if I can remove the very weakness from her through these acts. The snow is thick here, a waste land almost, that expands beyond Taviora. Their leader's scent is thick on the borders, a telltale sign of her recent struggle for power. We, those that take, must compensate, after all. Regardless, I have little interest in her scent. It, too, lays bitter. Perhaps I will come here in the future to see her, but for now, my interest remains exclusively with this female. It would be easier if I could simply pluck her away like some weed - she could remain, then, beneath my gaze. However, it is best not to do so. I care not for the politics surrounding such an act. Why should I? I merely care for my own well being - the well being of the dark female, Achlys. Or perhaps myself. Selfish, perhaps.
Slowly, I move around the borders, tentatively certain to not overreach into the territory. Occasionally, I pause to hiss out a low cry of summoning, beckoning her out of the tundra beyond. She will come, I am sure, and if not, perhaps I will test my resolve and very well drag her out of her little hole in the ground.