In Dire Straits

Terrible misfortune seemed to follow the siren where she followed - each regime she joined seemed to crumble into some form of obscurity or ruin. Had it not left her on her own and in need for a new place to live, she'd have found it rich and amusing. But here she was, determined to shed the remnants of her old lives aside and carry on to the next phase of her life, wherever that may be. Bitter, minty eyes followed the thickly-forested horizon, an ambiance that was all too familiar and eerie echoing through the canopies. Tall grasses scratched against her belly, these same grasses that once stood too tall for her to even see through. With critters roaming that once might have posed a threat to her, but now were pathetic prey that didn't even warrant her attention anymore. She now wandered closer and closer into a graveyard of memories and haunted figures of a skeleton kingdom. The distinct scents that marked the borders made her nose wrinkle, her paws slugging to a halt in the shivering shadows of the towers of her youth. Tigress stared with squinted eyes, judging every shrub and tree as if she were the only person capable of assessing their worth. As though the timber was a potential buyer looking to be sold to, as opposed to looking to sell herself to them. In a way, whatever remained of the immortal Alteron would need to be pitched well enough to her, despite her path seeming to circle around after all these years and leading her back to the kingdom of her birth. Given her track record, the bitch would need to be convinced of her opportunities here... of this leaderships' longevity and potential. "Well well, you undead bitch," A sneer, a knowing smirk, her tongue clicking in her cheek, "Looks like you're still kicking, have you the time for little old me?" A siren looking to be wooed back into the haunted shackles of long-dead memories.

Alteron in the summer was a humid affair. The thick canopy tended to hold all the moisture near the ground. Even without rain there were tiny trickles of water making their way through the grass, creating tracks that made the terrain easier to navigate. It did however make it extremely hard to keep any footsteps silent. Little splashes and the soft rustles of grass followed Connor as he made his way along Alteron's borders. 

Moving through the thick forest was something Connor had grown into - thick tree roots and underbrush could have trapped the unwary or covered them in fur matting burrs. Wandering needlessly through Alteron didn't happen. Connor was no exception. The scent markers that made up their borders needed to be checked and retained. Pages were supposed to do such things, although from what the lanky wolf understood it was a less than popular job. It was hard to catch the eyes of the alphas so far from their sight. But orders were orders and Connor saw no need to preen in front of the higher ranks. 

He was here to do his job. Nothing else mattered. 

Quote:"Well well, you undead bitch,"  "Looks like you're still kicking, have you the time for little old me?"

Connor's ears pricked at the noise. That was not another Page, or any of the members he was familiar with. Which meant either an intruder or a potential convert. Both things Connor had orders to deal with. He licked nervously at his lips for a moment before moving slowly toward the voice, head held high. Interacting with outsiders was a part of his job. He only needed to remember his orders, do his job right and he could go back to patrolling.

He nosed his way through the tall grass before spotting the owner of the voice. Female, bright coat, older than himself. Smaller build, possibly missing the dire that made up some of his own build. Possibly knowledgeable of the area given that she had made it this far without detection. That, or the other Pages were gathered around the center of the packland.

"Hello." Connor's voice was soft, face as emotionless as he could make it without seeming aggressive. "My name is Connor. I am a Page sent by Alteron. May I ask what it is you are looking for?" 

“Well, wee~eell...”

The mockery of her coy siren’s beckon was high and cold, a demented echo of the one she might better remember. It had been a very long time, you see, since they’d seen each other, not since both were silly yearlings. Now they were far from that age, lean adults with children, with old mates, with... body counts. Tigress was never the sort to get her pristine little footsies dirty.

Funny he should run into her. Only a day ago, he may not have. Crow had been roaming the outskirts of Alteron, a coin turning endlessly in his mind, heads and tails as he ruminated on what precisely he was going to do. Leave? Stay? A flip. Find the Dragon? Flip. Overturn this rock? Flip. The coin spun upon its side.

“Tigress,” purred Crow, tasting the name again as he came from the brush. He spoke briefly to Connor then, who might as well have been a floating throat and set of eyes for all he registered on the black wolf’s radar. “My sister... though, I suppose that might be... a little hard to believe.”

He’d been handsome once, in his youth. A sleek, dark wraith with a velvety coat and bright eyes. That boy was dead. The animal that was Crow now was something hideous and sinister like something on the precipice of rabies.

She was still as lovely as ever, of course.

He readied another coin.