We need to sow some chaos in this place. It has too long been idle.

The size of the female is backdropped by the light at the entrance of the cavern and my, she was a sizeable creature. Her scent was mostly that of wet fur with a bit of something earthy added to it. It was familiar and edged at his memory. It had been a long time since he was last here. Was he one or two at the time? Time erased such memories for Nyteshade was no longer a pup. He had matured, as had this wolf. Where he had leaned out, she had bulked up.

Nyte’s head rises slightly, cocking to the side as he studies what he can, her features fading in and out of focus with her movements, the sun, and the shadows. She moves as one with the world – no, as one who dominates the world. Each paw digs into the earth like a conqueror, not walking across it but owning it. This female didn’t just survive. She lived.

His grin slips away into a smile that is softer, secretive, and he takes a few strides towards her, though she is slightly above him on a ledge. There is a dangerous edge to her taunting voice. Would she leap upon him? She certainly could bowl him over if he was not careful. That voice reminded him starkly of her who she was. He had met her once, on the plains of Asteraia, the heir to the plain’s throne. ”I’ve the voice of a thousand jackals and one jackdaw; what kind of lullaby do you imagine that would make?” He makes a humming sound in his throat before it tapers into a hacking sort of cackle. Abruptly he sits, head lifted up to watch her with that strange, saccharine smile on his face.

”Heiress of the grass, you are not so strange to me. Still got that power or are you a nobody now like me?” Go and learn. Go and find. Report back. So the Shadowmaker would. He would find out any news he could and sow any seeds he could. There was no telling what he would get into after that and with one like Menkhet, well, the stakes were much higher.