Set at dusk, the night of Anaia's acceptance. Becu, let me know if the mention of Morg isn't okay/you want me to change anything.
For @Lorcan <3
For @Lorcan <3
@Morganna had been told of their little injured party, and now the ball was in her court regarding whether or not she would permit the woman to stay. While Craw had made his decision in the hopes that @Anaia would prove useful down the line, he would not resent her choice to cast out their little parasite. Had Whitestone not been flourishing as it was - though he still harboured plenty of doubts about the many women who had come to their borders now that the weather was turning, even the healthy ones - he would have swung the other way.
But even if Anaia disappointed him, she would serve a purpose in the meantime, to keep Lorcan's skills sharp and provide Odin with something more meaningful to learn with. The idea of Odin taking after Lorcan's line of work was a curious one, which he had only mentioned in passing to his mate so that she might be aware why her son was spending so much time with Lorcan and his ward. It ran in the Archer blood, Craw supposed, so it was no great surprise; @Elettra had been the great healer of the southern forests, had she not? Perhaps she still was, even now. Morganna knew her share of the trade, but it made sense for one of her children to take up a fancy in it. What might @Kara pursue? What end did causing trouble and mischief serve? Perhaps she would make a worthy diplomat, once whose presence is dreaded, he thought with an amused smirk as he made his way down the goat track to where @Anaia was being kept, the disembodied hindquarters of a snowshoe hare dangling from his jaws.
He could smell her, the woman and Lorcan and Odin and Sara, the closer he got to the coyote den which @Greer had identified on their first arrival. The memory of that day was still vivid, the sound of thunder still fresh in his ears, the rich wet scent of the tundra downpour quick to his nose. Nothing like the soft pale peacefulness of this evening, as the sun set early over the snow-blanketed lowlands, only just beginning to cast its dying oranges and reds.
Seeing nobody outside the den, and unsure of who might be inside other than their Lowest female, Craw placed the bloodied haunches on the ground and chuffed, quietly, for the attention of whoever might be awake inside or nearby.