Oh ho ho, her bones had been shaking for days. Instinct had told her change was imminent; voices were quiet, both living and dead, and the wind had stilled until it hadn't been able to contain the sound of a challenge. Ah, an unanswered challenge. Where had he gone? Where had that snake gone? With Eve and the children, with Aspis and all his anger, with Gazmala and her slickness. Did it truly matter? Beltane knew they'd never be wholly gone - no, even now she could still feel Blackthorne and his whispers in the grass that brushed against her side. Things were only ever temporary. Beltane knew. Beltane had seen it before. Yes, Beltane knew.
But she'd not leave like them, oh no. She had become too accustomed to the voices of the moors to leave so soon. The newcomers were just that: voices. New voices. It made her shaky on her paws with excitement, dead-ear turned back to listen to the wind at her heels as she sniffed her way towards whoever the newcomer was. Leader, queen, alpha. Beltane wondered what title she would take for herself. What name would she give them all? Listener, Silvertongue, she kept each name close to her. So many questions. They only sought to make her faster as she snaked through the marshes and towards the borders where Avery lay in wait; Beltane would be the first, a leftover from Blackthorne's rule, a ghost in her own right.