I am enthralled in my task, perhaps too eager now to be free from some old den that I have kept for too long. This one will not stink of women long gone or children long left behind; it will not be accursed by wolves since departed or words long since lost. It is new, a newness that is needed in a world that often stagnates. The other, I would think, will make for an appropriate holding ground for what I intend to purge of my brother. None shall question a buried den that reeks of their leader. There is seldom a single purpose for my actions, I think. One must remain multi faceted, multipurpose so to say. What good is a leader who can only think one thought at a time?

It is with a similiar purpose that my ears remain tall and alert, persistent in their surveillence as they swivel from the shoreline to the mainland time and time again. At times, I lift my nose from the dirt and wood to sniff at the air; I ought to keep my guard up, no? Spirane is under turmoil once again and so, there is always the possibility of others rising to continue what Daenerys begins. Like a stone in the river. The sun boils the blood of the ambitious.

I hear, then, paws before I see or smell. They approach levelly, neither threatening nor gentle and so, I ignore them for some moments, assured that it ought to be somebody such as Nari. Her steps, I think, are much the same - a natural, fluid kind of confidence. Yet, the moment the foreign stench of wolf enters the clearing, I feel my hackles lift like blades of grass along my spine. My skin prickles and twitches at the sudden response, my head swinging upwards as I immediately set to finding this stranger. It cannot be helped that a small growl bubbles like a stream in the back of my throat, my legs bracing stiff beneath me as I encounter her pale form as she saunters forward.

She speaks and yet, I merely observe her for a moment. My head tilts, bettering my view of her as I note her tail, unwavering in the presence of myself. In response, I raise my own, arching over my back as I take a stiff step forward, my head lowering defensively. My eyes, however, do not break from hers. "Where you are from," I begin, recalling my encounter some time ago with the strange woman Octavia, "are trespassers gifted with such information before or after they are dispatched?" I blink in inquiry, my head beginning to tilt to its opposite axis as I follow through with another stiff step. "Or, Svana, should you be given benefit of the doubt?" My accent is thicker now, the words spoken through my teeth as my lips rise ever so slightly to reveal their points.

"Quid pudor est," I muse. What a shame indeed. Glorall has a need for those with spines and yet, I cannot allow those of this world to test my own without recourse.