Ambrosia waited. And waited. And waited some more. She waited until her muscles ached from freezing in place and her toes went numb from where they pressed into the frosty ground. She waited until the alien aura from the Arcus Irae and the crackling energy of the Tempests overwhelmed her. The girl was used to being invisible - to her oblivious pack, her ignorant brothers, her own selfish mother - but these wolves were supposed to be her kind. Did they not sense her presence where it simmered quietly in the braken? Perhaps they didn’t care about another pair of glowing blue eyes spying on their gathering . . . or maybe, Ambrosia’s harsh mind whispered, all of them were far too stupid to notice her. A low scoff huffed from her pursed lips. Those judgmental sapphire lanterns narrowed, cutting from the Tempests to the rainbows and back again. Had she been a vampire, Ambrosia might have charged into their meeting and wrought absolute havoc. None of them were prepared for an ambush of any kind. Such a pity . . . the faeling had gone out of her way to study these fools only to discover that not a single one of them stood as any sort of competition.

Just when it felt as though her musculature would fuse from staying so still, the arrival of another Arcus Irae jolted Ambrosia’s system back to watchfulness. This young fellow’s fantastical neon palette speared into her eyes and made them water. He was certainly beautiful - painfully so, like a sunset over the ocean, something that one could not gaze upon for very long no matter how lovely his perfection. His pleasant aura mingled with the female and second male rainbows’, like mixing with like to form an even bigger cloud. Ambrosia’s ears went back again at the lad’s dramatic greeting to the others. “Doomed to a life of obscurity?” She muttered the phrase under her breath, amazed that some wolves actually talked like this. Clearly, the lass needed her time away from Wudubearo. Although the newly reborn Tempest knew most of what there was to know about surviving in the woods, she remained woefully unprepared to deal with social situations. Attempting to loosen her stiff limbs, Ambrosia took a deep breath and started extricating herself from her concealing braken . . .

A fourth Arcus Irae wandered in. Unlike the neon-hued rainbow, this one appeared much more subdued, shy, his timid stare scanning the group until it apparently fell on a familiar face - which he padded toward gratefully. They know each other? The Voices that sang to Ambrosia while she clawed her way back to life as a Tempest had mentioned something about bonding to rainbows. Even now, although Fate had not permanently tied them together, Ambrosia found herself riveting back on the Arcus Irae instead of her fellow blue-eyed lupines. Was she supposed to . . . form ties with these things? How would she know when that happened? Did she have to do anything about it? Slowly, carefully, the espresso-and-ink damsel stalked down the subtle incline toward the frozen falls, keeping to the shadows that slashed stripes across the forest floor. She paused immediately when another Tempest-signature pinged at the peripheral of her heightened awareness, however. Her body dropped instinctively into a low, dirt-hugging crouch. Her shimmering eyes stayed fixated upon the gathering, yet her ears flickered toward the muted sound of paws crunching in the dry leaves and fallen pine needles. A male Tempest was about to make his entrance, and his pace told the evening-painted lady that he felt far more confident in revealing himself than she did at the moment.

Ambrosia changed her course slightly, curving around the opposite direction so that she and the new Tempest brute would enter the scene at different angles. By the time this newcomer entered the meeting, voice tentatively breathing “Vladimir,” Ambrosia had circled to end up just behind the fiery Tempest teen, Quiturah. Bold as ever, the shade-splashed femme sashayed from the cover of the woods to sidle up right next to her cousin, attention smoothly moving from the slightly vulpine girl to the two rainbows closest to her. The serene mask on her visage gave nothing away . . . although her oceanic pools might have betrayed just a drop of cold arrogance, the best armor she’d managed to craft for herself. Before Quiturah possibly snapped at her, or the Arcus Irae screamed, Ambrosia dipped into a small bow and introduced herself. “Ambrosia. Descended from the line of Drysthdig, like the rest of the Tempests here. I know I wasn’t invited, but . . .” A thin smile glittered at the rainbows. “I just couldn’t stay away.”