Once again a queen, Winter has a budding army and plenty to offer them to keep them loyal. Besides expanding her territory, she is using her forces to chase specific creatures for reasons nobody knows. None of them seem to be connected.
The changes...
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Wing retraced his steps as softly as a wraith, gliding low through the vegetation. The South forest was renowned for its open forest floors, but that was far from being true everywhere. Here, shrubs rose high enough for even a half-Highlander to weave between them unseen.
Erratic forest breezes made finding 'downwind' difficult. As he drew near the Lesland gathering, Wing began to weave back and forth. The most consistent breeze was a south one, but the winds from the southeast had so far never reversed direction. Keeping in those would be safer.
At last he crept beneath a conifer and settled down. Beyond a screen of needled boughs lay a clearing. Leslanders clustered on the far side of it, talking and milling. One had eaten recently, and it hadn't been fresh. Wing let his lip curl as he sought the scent below the stench. He recognized this one, a male who had often been on top patrols in his days as the Black Prince. The lighter-stepping female beside him was probably his Masc partner. Wing waited for her to move to confirm it. She walked with a distinct limp. Two other creatures got in a spat and wound up on Wing's side of the clearing. By the speed and sound, they were A-ranks too.
"They're late," came the limping female's voice. "I thought you told them to meet here at moonrise."
The voice that replied made Wing's whole body lock up. He sank to the ground. The creature had been standing a ways off from the rest, silent.
"They'll come," she said, her voice smooth as a river pebble.
Few creatures in Winter's army held the power to initiate gatherings like this. Corsair must not only be a member of that army now. She must also have been promoted to at least second-rank since they had last crossed paths.
The needles stabbing his underbelly hurt like bites. Wing rubbed his face. He could still feel the blood from the injury this creature had dealt him, trickling down his cheek like tears. The eye had been sealed shut for moons. Rising slightly, Wing pushed needles out from under him until he had a smoother place to lie down. He pressed his forehead to his front paws.
For the next while there was only muted talk in the clearing: about Hyenars, then camp gossip and complaints about Whitewings. Corsair took no part in the chatter.
