It had all been confusing, the pack meeting, all of it. Always had Gwyneira seen her mother and father as perfect, as above reproach. Both were flawless in their actions – be they attacks or defenses. Each time, they moved with lethal precision, each strike going exactly where it should with just enough power so as to not overexert or overextend oneself and thus put them off balance. And then, despite their power, they moved with grace and ease onto the next motion in their form… and the next and the next and the next. They were her teachers, but they were also her role models, what the princess was aiming to become. A warrior, a force of nature. At first she had only seen her mother like this, but when Kershov had saved her from Draven and taken her out of Caidir Olc, she had bestowed the same inflated view upon him as well. Which was why his attack on himself had confused her.

The whole point of being a warrior, from what her mother had told her, was to be the strongest, fastest, deadliest wolf possible… and how was damaging himself useful? Was it not contradictory, was it not an oxymoron to be a warrior and yet demand pain and punishment to one’s body that may or may not be permanent? For the first time in a long while, Gwyneira had whimpered, worried that perhaps her father had gone insane. She knew that there were diseases of the body and mind… perhaps this was like that. Fear had rippled through her and she wondered if it was contagious – would her mother get it? Would she get it? But to make everything more confusing, her mother had stood against her father – was he not the alpha? Shouldn’t she do as he said? Or was she rebelling… would Mother take the throne? Had he become a mad king enough to damage the pack and thus truly need punishment albeit not the punishment that Kershov thought he required? The pack meeting had droned on with many things she did not understand – mainly fights amongst the adults due to the controversy of it all, and the lass had tuned out enough for it all to go in one ear and out the other. Still, she remained stiff and tall and stoic, giving the illusion of paying attention… that is until the word ‘Trial’ was spoken. For their entire puphood, their mother had been grooming them for this one thing – to fight to the death, with only the strongest to survive. And, apparently, it was time.

It was not strange that Gwyneira and Sergei were more mature than their counterparts – they had learned about the serious aspects of life early on, including life, death, sex… how everything worked. But what surprised her now, as the two siblings trotted toward the battlefield together, was how bright and bubbly her brother was. He smiled at her and asked if she was ready… but she was relieved when she realized that the closer they got to the woods, the more serious he became. And when finally they reached their destination, he snarled at her and leapt into the shadows… and Gwyneira had leapt after him a few strides before careening off into the shrubbery. If he were going to hide, then fine… but at least she would make it hard for him to pick up on her scent. Gwyneira began to claw at the hard, frozen earth with her sharpened claws until she had a nice loose pile of dirt… and then she promptly rolled in it, covering her scent with that of the forest instead of that of the sea, as was her norm. Peering back, she looked at her mother, Athene, who peered at her with a stoic mask, before leaping into the woods to track down her brother, taking care to leap on the boulders in the hard ground so as to leave less prints for her brother to be able to track her by. And step by step, she started trying to pick up on his scent. Her nares flared, and a grim tight line marked her lips as his cologne came to her… as did his trail.

WC: 705