The silver wolf had long since grown into her ears and paws, carrying herself with a certainty befitting her lineage, almost arrogant in her carriage as ghost grey eyes surveyed the lands spread out before her. Her mother might have been the ruler the Scowle, content to keep her borders and mind her own, only ever venturing as far as the Willows to visit Sedna’s regal aunt, but with the coming of her second year came an itch. A less lawful wolf may have faltered, a weaker woman might have shuddered - even so, it seemed wherever she tried to retreat to ride it out, her mother was watching, waiting for the girl to step out of line. With the onset of spring, the borders were no longer big enough for the both of them.
It wasn’t as if Morganna wasn’t familiar with the way her daughter was eyeing her, the critical glance any time the older wolf winced with the onset of arthritis in her joints, the narrow eyed judgement the younger wolf gave whenever she would hand off a critical position in the hunt for someone younger. Someone more capable. How much longer could the Archer really hold on? A sneer marked her lips for just a moment before her tongue dragged across her nose.
Another problem, for another day... Unless...