Upon a wide shelf of rock, perched upon the highest peak in the range of mountains known as Spirane, sat a lone shewolf. Though at first glance she appeared almost silver in the gentle light of dawn, when one looked close enough they would find that this was but a trick of the eye. Contrary to popular belief, her base coat was actually a stark and solid black. Each hair faded to a silvery white at its tip, her guard hairs a mix of gray, silver, and bluish-black, effectively masking the ebony fur that lay beneath and creating the illusion of a silvery pelage. And yet it took only the gentle parting of a spring breeze to reveal the stunning roots that gave her pelt such a unique and beautiful tone. All four of her limbs were dark - nearly black but not quite so - and this color reached up to fleck heavily into her chest as well. Upon her crown sat two ears rimmed in pitch, and within her visage were deep mahogany eyes that seemed brighter than they truly were because of the dark mask that encompassed them, stretching down to coat the top of her muzzle too. The regal beauty she had been blessed with at birth had not gone unmarred in her years of life and service to the pack that called these mountains home. She bore scars upon her snout, neck, withers, legs, chest - even her tail. Some were more apparent than others, for there was not so much hair upon the bridge of one's muzzle or limb to cloak a scar as there was in the thickness of a ruff. These more evident of scars only served to add a certain austerity to her inborn regality. Daenerys was a natural beauty, but nothing in her life had ever been simply handed to her.

Mahogany eyes that had now seen thirteen years turned away from the pastel painted horizon at the sound of another wolf approaching. As she came into view, Daenerys considered her for a moment. It was hard to believe the girl was grown into a young woman. Long, athletic limbs that sported brindles inherited from her great-grandfather carried her up the ridge, all signs of puppy-pudge chiseled away into a refined visage that struck Daenerys as more mature than she had anticipated. Only a few days had passed since she'd last seen the girl, and somehow the first signs of snow melting away had seemingly transformed her into an adult overnight. Or perhaps it had been a long time coming, and Daenerys had refused to see it. Yet there was still a youthful exuberance to her step, steps that carried her more sturdy frame ever closer to the outcropping upon which Daenerys sat. A thing of beauty in her own right, she was truly a deep gray in color, with a patch of her father's white emblazoned on her chest and dips of his tan on her hind toes. Unlike Daenerys, only the bridge of her snout was darkened to near blackness, though she wore a cape of the inky hue from her ears all the way down to her tail. Even at the young age of four she already bore scars on her frame as well, gained from encounters with cougars and trespassing wolves alike. Eyes of mahogany haloed in orange were filled with optimism as she finally stepped out onto the ledge and brushed shoulders with her mother before taking a seat beside her. But there was an undercurrent of apprehension that she tried - and failed - to hide beneath the spring in her step and the hope in her eyes. Nymeria was nervous for what this meeting with her mother may bring to pass - was she ready for this?

Together, they looked out across Moladion as the sun crept up from beneath the horizon. A mist hung over the country, shrouding some of the coastal regions and lowlands from view, but Daenerys knew the lands well enough to see in her mind what nature veiled from view. The breaths of both mother and daughter clouded the air before them, the chill of winter still redolent at this altitude. A pregnant silence grew between them, Daenerys quietly thoughtful as she considered where to begin the conversation, while Nymeria inwardly spiraled but attempted to maintain her outward composure.

"Why should it be you, Nymeria?" Daenerys asked, diving straight into the thick of it as she turned towards her daughter. She had seven children, each of which held their own personal strengths that they could certainly lend to the stead of ruling if they so desired. Drogon's strength, Viserion's intellect, Rhaegal's charm, Kalseru's tenacity, Sansa's kindness, Visenya's perception. And then there were her nieces and nephews, who had just as much of a right to try for the position of heir, as direct descendants of Boneclaw and Thunderbone, Moonglow and Alcide. But it was Nymeria who had stepped forward, she who had made her desires known, and no others had contested her. Over the past year she had risen to the challenge of the many tasks laid before her and mounted each of them with gusto. But completing tasks alone, a leader did not make. Nymeria's nostrils flared as she looked into her mother's eyes.

"Ever since I was young, I always wanted to be a warrior - like Boneclaw and Alcide and Sleekwing...and you. To protect those I care about," Nymeria answered, trying to find her footing in the mass of reasons why she had finally stepped forward the previous year to prove herself as worthy of becoming her mother's heir. "I think for a long time I thought that would be enough - being a warrior - but then I tried scouting, and I liked it. I tried diplomacy, and I liked it. I tried hunting and stealing, and I liked those too, or...well enough anyways," she paused, and Daenerys took the opportunity. "So why not Palfrey? You're proficient in all of the basic requirements." Nymeria shook her head, partly to herself, looking out across Moladion again. "But it's more than that. I don't know how to say it...how to put it into words. There's something more, I'm just...not sure what it is." Daenerys hummed quietly to herself, following her daughter's line of sight.

A single ear flicked atop Nymeria's head, trained on her mother as she sighed softly to herself. Before she could gather her thoughts, Daenerys spoke softly. "I never wanted any of you to feel that you had to take up the mantle of 'heir.' I was groomed for it from birth, the first child of Moladion after the skyfall, the first child of Spirane in place of Solevion. My elder brother, Swallowbane, hated me for it, for the choice that Alcide made." Nymeria turned to her mother, inquisitive. "I never wanted that for you and your siblings - the rivalry. It was never for me to choose one of you, or one of your cousins. I knew time would show me who - and when."

She looked into her daughter's eyes, smiling. "You've always been headstrong, feisty - prone to trouble in more ways than one." Nymeria dipped her head and grinned sheepishly. "I was wondering how long it would take you to figure it out." Her head popped back up then, taken by surprise. "...Really?" For all of her attitude and confidence, she had been nervous that maybe she wasn't cut out to follow in the immense paw prints that Daenerys left in her wake. "Of course, Nym. You've been my little warrior princess since you took your first step outside the den and fended off that butterfly for trespassing too close. You're not so little anymore, though," she said, leaning towards her and licking her cheek affectionately. "You've still got a lot to learn, and I pray that it is never thrust on you like it was on me, but I know you'll make a fine Alpha someday."

Nymeria's tail waved back and forth over the stone, beaming under her mother's praise. "I will never stop working for it, Mom, I promise." Daenerys nodded her head, accepting this vow from her daughter. She would hold her to it, and in turn never stop testing the girl until she knew she was ready, until it was time for her to step aside and allow Nymeria her chance to lead. Perhaps it would come in a matter of months, or maybe it would not yet be for another couple of years - time would tell. But for now Daenerys was satisfied to see some humility in her proud daughter, and an admission that she still had more to learn. As heir she would be surrounded by wolves ready to help her master the skills that she had wet her appetite with over the past months.

As the sun crept higher into the sky, they continued to talk of the future and matters involving the pack. Of Nymeria's success in renewing the ties with Diveen, and solidifying the knowledge that the packs were each other's first and foremost ally. About how she had not so much stolen Nico (and subsequently her sister, Vesta), but invited them to spend some time in Spirane to mend the gap created between their families; that stealing was a strange concept to her and a practice she did not see herself engaging in overly much. Their conversation became somber as they spoke of Jericho and Sansa and how dearly the pair were missed. Then it turned adventurous as they spoke of the unknown shewolf who had given Nymeria the scar on her shoulder, and then about how Daenerys had gotten the scar on her tail - among many others. The sun rose higher still as they spoke of intentions to go north to treat with Taviora's young leaders, and the boy that Nymeria planned to make the trip with. Daenerys saw the sparkle in her daughter's eyes as she spoke again of his valor in the hunt, how he had made sure that everyone was safe throughout and worrying not for some kind of glory in killing the beast. Though she had met him in passing before, the alphess made a note of seeking out this young Vortigern fellow for closer inspection. Their conversation carried on throughout the day - of Daenerys' hopes for Malina's return to the mountain, and Nymeria's newest cousins that were to be born to Haven and Hollowpoint's den later in the season. Matters of small and great importance alike passed between mother and daughter as they shifted and lounged upon the rocky outcrop.

It was only as the sun began its descent towards the western horizon that they realized how much time had passed, and how much information between them. Together they sat up a little straighter, and Daenerys was the first to lift her heard and allow a strong, beautiful song to slip between her lips. The howl rang out across the mountain, and was soon joined by that of Nymeria, their voices harmonizing in a stunning, powerful timbre. But it was not simply Mother and Daughter who sang together - it was the Protector of the Realm, and her Heir Apparent.