Having finally made a decision, her stay near the Ridge's borders was just a temporary one. She needed a place to rest for the night, and nothing kept unwanted company at bay like the thick musk of a pack. Like yin, and yang, every pro needed a con, so she was careful not to stray too close to the imaginary lines separating Willow Ridge from the rest of the Lore. It was entirely possible that they'd force her further anyway, but if she stayed on her side, they probably wouldn't kill her. Probably.

A light gust of wind brought with it the heavy stench of a feline, one that Celandine chose to avoid, but it left the near-adult to wonder whether the pack wolves knew. It was soon to be birthing season, her own heat having left half a moon cycle ago. She'd been lucky enough to avoid making any little mistakes, but the likelihood of a pack not having cubs was slim to none. Something about the mewling creature seemed to get the subordinates giddy about love, and new life, but that's not what cubs were to her. They were the clearest show of rank, of the power to breed. How very unromantic it was. 

 A familiar chill crept up her spine, drawing away the vague thoughts of children, and replacing them with images of a grey stranger. Without the initial surge of adrenaline to dull her senses, pale ears pricked forward. Swiveling to, and fro, they pinpointed his direction with ease. There was a carelessness to his gait this time, echoing faintly each time his mass crashed down on the soil, and.. something else. Someone else. So she had mistaken his confidence for carelessness then. A pity. Two against one wasn't very fair.

In a very Celandine fashion, the corner of her lip pulled upwards, as their paw steps drew closer. There was no sense in running now. Adrenaline or no, she'd tire before them. It was the way their world worked. So she stood there motionless, listening to as the pair drew closer, and closer.

Her bright eyes felt no great need to stray to the male—she'd already taken his form to memory—so it was the female she scanned. This one did not tower over her, but rather stood just below. Too bad the dark woman had a friend to keep her company, or things might have panned out a bit differently. Unable to stop the smile that spread across her face, Celandine lowered her head by a degree or two. No sense in pissing off a pregnant woman; Hormones and all that. The latest discovery was very interesting, indeed, alongside the shift in the woman's posture. It did not take a very keen eye to note the way her coffee-colored tail curled upwards, and her equally dark head raised. So she was either a high ranking female, or the Ridge had a change in the monarchy, for this woman was not old enough to mother the little prince's she'd met.

She answered the woman's clear display of power with as much respect as she could manage without submitting like a subordinate begging for it's life. They were outside of the borders after all, and this woman did not rule the Lore. Her ashen tail, already losing some of it's winter plush, fell somewhere between neutral and submissive, though she refused to cater to the woman any more. She might have been special as far as the Ridge was concerned, but out there, past their borders, she was but a title. Hadn't Celandine already learned how little titles actually meant? 

It was then that he spoke, his raspy voice cutting through the tension in her shoulders. "Now, now," Bright eyes flashed to him finally, watching as he caressed the woman's cheek. They were like mid-day overcast, and night; so different and yet it would seem that she softened at his touch. So was he the father then? Or just a subordinate overstepping his bounds? The alpha male maybe? It didn't matter. Regardless of what, or who he was, his condescension went unappreciated. It would seem that he liked this game though, taunting her as if she were merely a child. Celandine couldn't help but admit that she liked it too. She enjoyed ruining his fun. 

He cast her a glance that made her stomach churn, yet she remained glued to the soil beneath her paws. The woman still had a few tricks up her sleeve, after all. Even more unsettling than his gaze was the question he asked—the innocence in it—which left her wondering if he knew more than he led on, but she pushed it aside. These two were still dangerous, and her life was too precious to risk poking a sleeping dragon. "No. She's gone." He could interpret that however he'd like. Dead, out-of-reach, whatever suited him best. She'd already given up.

He stepped closer then, putting distance between himself and the woman, while drawing ever closer. Had he placed himself there to protect the pregnant one, or her? "Is there something that you require of me?"

"I will help you find her," Bright eyes studied the man carefully, awaiting the proposition that would inevitably follow his raspy statement. So they did require something of her after all. How sweet. If he was to be believed—which she was sure he was not—then at least she had a chance, and to be honest, Celandine was so very tired. Tired of chasing after the crumbled remains of Silent Moon; Of searching for a wolf who seemingly did not want to be found. The woman was sick of the disappointment, and the endless wandering. 'Why not?'

So when his mass shifted it's posture, sending her an invitation to kneel, the woman did not skip a beat. Her body responded to his-albeit stiffly. 'Oh how the mighty have fallen.' "Perhaps," The former heiress followed suit, not necessarily mocking, but choosing the word for effect. "I could offer my own services." So she knelt. Like every single subordinate, like every powerless, pride-less creature. She forced her stomach to the earth, her amber eyes from the pair. For once in her life, she would serve. For her, or Maeve; For hope, or the unshakable disappointment she'd endured. She would submit.

It felt wrong, and new. She hated herself for it, hated them even more. How had she gotten here? Still, her pale crown bowed to them, accepting the display of dominance that was likely to come any second.