Muses of a Wolf

It was so strange, to feel nothing, to have something sharpen his mind to an edge so dangerous he finally felt at peace. A peace in front of something meant to horrify. Because what other reason was there to drag the Warrior of Light and their party of adventurers to this place to show off a bound primal?

Maybe that fact made him bold, stepping forward a few paces, his silver eyes locked with Zenos yae Galvus, who was simply smiling that sickeningly saccharine smile that meant he wanted nothing more than to clash blades. If he was honest, his fingers itched to slide his rifle from his back, to take a shot, to see if it was really true the Garlean prince could deflect a bullet.

But maybe, just maybe, a bullet wasn't the answer. Not yet.

“Back where I come from…” Bryn’s voice rumbled with the tired gravel of a soldier, sliding his rifle from his back, ready, as he eyed the man standing among the flowers of his city, his state, his land. “...we have a name for people like you.”

“Oh ho ho! Do tell!” Zenos sneered, his face a twisted mask of glee and triumph, standing at the Pinnacle of Ala Mhigo, among the Royal Menagerie, where he knew he had no right to be, or rule from. “Would it happen to be…’hero?’ No…?” Pacing steps, left to right, matching Bryn’s right to left. “What about ‘leader?’” His smile grew as Bryn bristled visibly, and the Garlean’s hand fell to the blade in that many weaponed sheath at his side. “Oooh, or perhaps…” and the grin that split his features was taunting, dangerous, and oh so sure as the primal behind him, Shinryu, screamed with protest, knowing what was coming. “...’GOD!’”

Bryn was silent, but his body was not, the rifle on his shoulder coming down, at the ready, as the Warrior of Light and those with them readied for battle, as his silver eyes bore into that grinning visage, and Bryn shook his head in slow disbelief, and no small amount of cold, hard anger. “...How about ‘coward?’”

And he felt an intense sense of pride and grim satisfaction as that smile twisted into a snarl of rage.

His eyes fluttered open, sitting among the very flowers he had fought in days before, and found once again something like the calm he had felt before. It was a strange thing, to feel calm within him, the fight, the wolf, all of it just…at peace. Maybe it was the flowers, or the spell that kept the weather here perpetually pleasant, or just being…home, in Ala Mhigo.

In free Ala Mhigo.

His home was free.

It was a…well, what other way was there to describe it besides a wolf. A bipedal, blinking, staring back at them wolf. Or, wolf man. Man wolf? “Lupin,” Alisaie called them, surprising them all enough that Kaleh'a’s tail flicked, Silvia’s ears twitched, and Bryn, Bryn still stood motionless. Motionless enough he might as well have been a statue as she continued. “Alphinaud told me about them. They are abundant in Othard and Doma. Surprised we haven't seen one sooner, honestly.”

Sooner? This was practically right outside of their small base of operations in Doma. If they were that common here that the three of them just ran into one? Could that really mean…

“Uhm, did I do something…wrong?” The Lupin was bouncing his gaze between the four of them, his simple kimono marking him as likely a farmer, and given the tiers of rice they were standing in, a local one. Bryn had no doubt their sudden group was concerning, especially the fact that they were all foreigners. It was no secret that a rebellion was brewing, while mostly being ignored, but with how close they were to the Lupin’s doorstep, he had no doubt they had heard the rumblings.

“No,” his voice surprised even him, a little louder than he meant, a little more gruff. He cleared his throat, shaking his head and offering a small smile. “Nothing wrong, sir. We just…it…we hadn't seen a Lupin before.”

“Ahhh, you weren't with the initial group we saw around here. Are we really that surprising?” His voice was so…fluid, with barely a hint of a growl, none of that animalistic rumble he would expect from a muzzle.

That he had heard from himself.

This was just surreal, to the point that Bryn stepped forward, closed his eyes, and…took a slow, deep breath.

“No, you are not surprising.” His eyes opened, offering a bow the way Yugiri had taught them. “It's nice to meet you. And thank you for your continued secrecy about our presence here.”

The Lupin bowed back, a small smile on his lips as he rose in time with Bryn. “No, thank you. You've brought hope back to us, and that is no small feat. I hope…truly…that you all succeed.”

“As do I.”

They wandered from the rice fields after that, along the road towards the arches of rock that easily let them view the Doma Castle, and it was only when they were separated by a few paces from Alisaie and Kaleh'a - who were bickering over who was the better fighter for the fifth time since they had landed in Kugane - that Silvia hung back, and asked the troubled Hyur, “Are they…?”

“No,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Or, well, maybe.” They walked in silence for a moment, before he sighed. “Similar, but different. Maybe in the past, a long time ago, my family came from Doma. Or maybe the Lupin once lived in Gyr Abania. But if they did, there are almost no similarities now…” It brought a twang of anguish to his chest, something that bit deep at the hope upon seeing the Lupin that maybe...just maybe, he had found a thread that explained his situation. To have it dashed so quickly hurt in a way he hadn't expected...

He was surprised when her hand landed gently on his arm, her blue eyes meeting his with an understanding smile. “In the end, it doesn't change who you are. Even if they were the same.”

Bryn only nodded, softly, and she drew back her hand, tail flicking behind her, and for a moment he watched it from the corner of his eye, and offered her a small glimpse of his thoughts. “Abundant… What a shock that would be to see them on a battlefield.”

“I don't know what to say,” her voice happy as she let out the breath in a wispy sigh. “It's my first time on a boat, but it feels…natural!”

The rumbling chuckle from Bryn carried even over the splash of waves against the hull, his green coat flapping in the wind as her close fitting leather armor and over shirt didn't leave much for the wind to grab. In fact, the only thing that really caught the wind was her braid and skirt, and the skirt wasn't long enough to really whip, nor frilly enough to blow up. “I’m going to say it’s all the bouncing and jumping you do with that spear,” turning to lean his back against the railing.

He looked at ease, and she marveled at that, watching the way his body swayed with the waves, not fighting the motion, and not lilting like Kaleh’a did when trying to stand up. Even when she sometimes staggered with a big wave, Bryn just rode it out without a wayward shift of his weight, and she found herself gawking. Gawking enough that he noticed and gave her a wry grin.

“I was a Marauder, you know. This is second nature to me.”

“Oh! You are from Limsa?” She tilted her head, curious, tail flicking behind her and helping to stabilize her a little, her curiosity only growing as Bryn shook his head.

“Not from, just where I ended up. Honestly, it feels weird not having an axe on my back and on a ship…” She caught the way he changed the subject, and she respected that, knowing that there were some deep wounds there. She had seen a glimpse of it, just a glimpse, and if he had wound up in Limsa from somewhere else…

“Ala Mihgo,” she whispered, and his silver eyes flicked towards her before he nodded simply. They fell silent, Silvia watching the waves, Bryn the rigging, and Kaleh’a heaving up the contents of his stomach down the way. She grimaced, turning her head towards Bryn to avoid the sight, and asked, “Do you think it will work? You know, splitting their forces, making them fight here and in Doma?”

There was a long silence, before those silver orbs closed and he sighed. “Maybe. It might just work, so long as we can convince Doma to actually fight. It’s a risk, but a calculated one.” His lips quirked upward slightly. “Alphinaud is good at those.”

“Well good to know. Glad I decided to join up!”

“Mmm, we need every hand we can get.”

“I still feel like we are making ourselves a target.”

That got a grunt from Bryn, and her ear flicked at the unusual sound. “I don’t think you are wrong…it feels almost like we are prey…”

“Maybe we are,” she said, glancing at Kaleh’a before smiling. “But if a certain hunter is right, prey are most dangerous when they are cornered.”

“And we are definitely cornered.” He chuckled, tilting his head back, his black hair tousled by the wind, before he abruptly murmured, “You never told him what you saw.”

Silvia knew instantly what he meant, her expression softening as she reached back, grabbing her braid and pulling it forward, running her fingers over the tightly woven hair. “It didn’t seem like my place to.” Her voice was almost reverent, although the look she got had her sheepishly glancing away from the eyes that very clearly said Don’t you dare start with that.

“Either way…thank you. I appreciate you keeping it a secret.”

“Well it was that or risk your claws,” she teased, and he let out a bark of laughter.

“Oh so it’s just fear keeping you in line?”

He was up, off the cot a healer had expressly told him to stay in, rotating his shoulder despite the bandages meant to hold it in place, finding it healed enough from Zenos sending him flying with a flick of his blade, and he stalked towards the command tent of Rhalgr's Reach, his tail an angry whip behind him. It was thirty some odd paces, and the feeling hadn’t dissipated in the slightest as he stepped under the tent shade, opened his mouth, and was interrupted immediately by Bryn’s voice.

“We don’t have enough to fight this.”

There was an angry sounding his-yowl from one side of the table, and Kaleh’a had to blink as he took in the visibly bristling Miqo’te at that end. She was blonde, with spiky hair at the back and bangs heavily covering her left eye. She looked about ready to come over the table at Bryn, who for his part, looked unphased. He was maybe one of the few fighters who were not injured from the attack, his green coat and emblazoned silver wolf dusty, but untarnished otherwise. That’s not to say he hadn’t fought, in fact Kaleh’a distinctly remembered hearing the crack of his rifle multiple times, but he had somehow avoided Zenos, either by luck, or realizing he didn’t stand a chance.

Although Kaleh’a had a guess that Bryn likely could have put up a decent fight…

“We cannot let their sacrifice be in vain!” His eyes drifted back to the dark skinned Miqo’te, a Seeker if he had to guess, the dull red shoulders and dark grey outfit marking her as Resistance, but it was clear she wasn’t backing down from her position. And knowing Bryn, he wasn’t backing down from his either.

“You misunderstand,” he rumbled out, taking Kaleh'a by surprise, a heavy sigh on the burly man’s lips. “I’m not disagreeing with you, M’naago, but we cannot throw ourselves at the Garlean forces after this.”

“I hate to say it, but he’s right.” Raubahn, who was sitting, studying the map of…wait, that wasn’t a map of Gyr Abania. Kaleh’a shuffled closer, peeking out from behind Bryn and scouring the map of, well, the known world. And across the sea, a pin, stuck in a port city…

“Oh, oh!” Kaleh’a glanced up at Bryn, a wicked grin of realization on his lips already, who shot him a look before glancing at the map and nodding, his gaze cutting back to M’naago.

“Ignore the curious cat behind me, poking his nose where it doesn’t quite belong, but I think even he understands what our goal is here.”

“Goal?” She glanced, with confusion, between the Hyur and the map, before the sound of boots announces yet another arrival, coupled with a soft sigh.

“Ah, good, glad to see you up, Kaleh’a, it would have been a shame to lose our courier.” That earned Alphinaud an eye roll as the decidedly not just a courier straightened, and Alphinaud chuckled before growing serious. “They are still fighting, barely, on the edge of death, and the healers…they aren’t sure if they will pull through.” He didn’t have to say who. Bryn and Kaleh’a knew, and both were somber as the Miqo’te sent up a silent prayer to Menphina for help. The Warrior of Light had rushed in to fight Zenos, and it had landed them on death’s door. That and half of Rhalgr’s Reach thanks to the Skulls and Zenos. But for Alphinaud to give an update like that…

“They will pull through,” Bryn rumbles, his voice surprisingly sure as Kaleh’a leans against the table with the map, resting the hand at the end of his good shoulder on it. “And we will have a plan when they do.”

“Is it really the best plan though?” Kaleh’a said it to Alphinaud, knowing full well that it wasn’t Bryn who had masterminded this, and he wasn’t too confident when he saw Alphinaud’s face.

“It’s…fifty fifty,” the white haired Elezen admitted, which got a nod from Kaleh’a and a grunt from Bryn. “At the very least it will force them to split their forces. Give the Resistance time to recover.”

“I’m sorry, what will?” M’naago raised an eyebrow, glancing between the three of them. Alphinaud gave her a small smile, and gestured to the map.

“We can’t keep fighting the way we are here. We need allies, new allies. And who better to fight with us than those already under Garlemald’s boot?”

“We are going to Doma!” Kaleh’a said with a grin. The look of shock on M'naago's face, followed immediately by a scowl and an obvious objection on her lips, only for her to pull back, think for a long moment, and slowly nod, her ears wiggling atop her head as Kaleha's mirrored the movement. "I see...Garlemald would have to fight on two fronts. Drawing away their focus here, giving us time to recover, and if you succeed, they could come back and help us!"

“Then I’m going with.”

Kaleh’a saw as much as sensed Bryn tense, the sudden voice one they both knew well. Lyse strode confidently into the open air tent, her expression already set into one that broached no argument. “If we are going to find more allies, I will be there, as a representative of both the Scions and the Resistance. As soon as the Warrior of Light wakes, we can discuss the plan and then head out. I have no doubt Raubahn and M’naago will convince them.” To some, the way that Bryn leaned over the table might have been in pain, but to Kaleh’a, who understood him a bit better than most, he knew it was control. Control to not dampen the wildfire behind him with the pain that experience brought.

Instead, Kaleh'a smiled, watching as Bryn managed a curt nod and neutral words. “Fine, for now I can agree it’s a good course of action. But if for a moment I hear that the Resistance needs our help, I am returning here.”

“A fair compromise,” Raubahn agreed, rising from his seat. “I will discuss this with Conrad, make sure things are squared away here. Alphinaud, will you be joining them?”

“Not now, no. There are things I want to finish here. Plus, my healing skills might come in handy.” The young man gives them all a wan smile, before glancing between Bryn, Kaleh’a, and Lyse. “Do look after my sister? There is no way she won’t find herself on that boat.”

That only made Kaleh’a chuckle as he quipped back, “I’ll be sure to keep an eye on her!”

“Are you forgetting we are in this mess because of them?” His voice was low, angry, practically a growl, a growl that didn't dissipate until a heavy hand fell on his shoulder, and made the native Ala Mhigan fall silent. If there was one man in this meeting who he had the utmost respect for, one of his own countrymen no less, it was Raubahn, the Bull of Ala Mhigo. His gaze cut to the towering one-armed figure, who even dwarfed Bryn’s six fulm frame, and the look of understanding and sympathy in his gaze had the Silver Wolf relaxing slightly. He understood probably better than most the turmoil in Bryn’s mind being so close to home, all while still shouldering the loss of a friend.

The loss of two friends.

His gaze slid back across to Lyse as Raubahn did his best to cut through the middle with, “He’s right, the false flag attempt by The Griffon has landed us in this situation, and I can understand the hesitance to reach out to the rebels. Which is why we three are here. We all have a stake in this fight, in our homeland. It is–”

Bryn’s hand raises, shaking his head. “I'm sorry, but what stake does she have?” Lyse looked like her long blonde hair might bristle into a porcupine’s back at his words, and Raubahn shot him a look. A look he returned with narrow eyes. Maybe the shock of her reveal still stung. The shock that the woman he had fought with years and years ago was gone, replaced by her sister. The shock at the audacity of the lie… It was all too fresh as he met her gaze and rumbled out, “Your father was a brave man, I don't doubt that, and I don't doubt that you were born in Gyr Abania, but you were younger than us both when your sister spirited you out of this land. So I ask again, what stake do you have in this beyond your time pretending to by Yda?”

He felt as much as saw Raubahn tense at the name, at the mention of the deception, and Kaleh'a coughed from somewhere behind them as the sudden silence stretched on. Until Lyse, staring up at Bryn from across the war table, turned up her nose, let out a breath of air, and turned away from them, marching to the door while throwing over her shoulder, “You can say what you want about me, it doesn't change the fact that I'm going, and I'm taking the Warrior of Light with me! We will have allies! And I will keep fighting for my country!”

The door slammed behind her, leaving the two older men standing there, until Bryn sighed. “She's hot headed, idealistic, and dangerous.” Raubahn grunted, leaning his one good hand against the table and looking over the map.

“Aye, she is all those things. Which the resistance needs.” Bryn’s eyes narrowed, but he stayed silent, for a moment.

“Maybe. But there will be no resistance if she leads them into a fight they can't win.” That got a heavy sigh from Raubahn, who nodded and pushed off the table.

“Which is why you will go with her.”

“What?”

“What?! Sorry, sorry, I'm just gonna…” Kaleh'a was quick to slip out of the room when both men’s heads snapped his direction, the hard pairs of eyes not softening until he was gone, and Bryn could shake his head.

“I cannot work with them if they planned the false flag.”

“I know,” Raubahn said softly, “but we don't know they did. Look, Bryn.” That heavy hand on his shoulder again, his blue eyes boring into Bryn’s silver. “I trust you. You've proven yourself in the field. You know this land, how dangerous and beautiful it can be. Find out if the Resistance can be trusted, and if they can, guide her.”

Bryn’s brows knitted together, his eyes gleaming with displeasure, but…Raubahn was right about one thing. Someone needed to be there, to work with the Resistance, and to lend a hand to Lyse. Her fire might be what the Resistance needs, but it couldn't be allowed to burn unrestrained. He sighs and the weariness flashes across his face, years of fighting evident on his face, and a tiny kernel of hope.

“We are so close, Raubahn, we are so close.”

“The closest we have ever been,” he agrees, before patting Bryn’s shoulder. “I’ll go ask the Warrior of Light to join you. Between the two of you, surely it will be enough to keep things moving in the right direction.”

What it didn’t act as a natural barrier to was the Miqo’te’s adventurous nature and the hair-brained idea to scout ahead. Why had he raised his hand when the call for scouts had gone out? He had no idea! He wasn’t built for this flat and rocky terrain! He was used to trees, and climbing, and sneaking up on his enemies from the side or above or, on very few occasions, below! The only thing this windswept and nearly lifeless land was good for was seeing any Garlean at the same time they would see him. So he at least could watch his doom approach!

Or, well, not exactly.

He had a bow, and the wide open swaths of rocky sand actually offered him some incredible sight lines. In turn, given his training in spaces that required precision so something like a branch didn’t knock his arrow flight off, this space was just asking for him to try for a longest shot. As long as he got the wind right, it would be relatively easy, and since the mountains liked to block a good section wind, he could probably wait for it to die down and then loose an arrow. He had already spied some viscous looking vultures he could try it on, or rather large grizzly bears that had somehow adapted to the harsh climate. But neither of those creatures was why he was sitting atop this little knoll of sand looking out towards a creek.

According to the locals, they had dubbed it Mirage Creek, and he could see why. The water seemed to throw up a spray in the heat that made the rockface behind it shimmer and wave. He had grown bored watching the colors shift, and instead laid flat on his chest to track a wild dodo, idly watch it wander closer to the creek, disappear into the shifting mirage, and then…

Both of his blonde ears shot up in surprise as a small group of quickly moving, well garbed Ala Mhigan fighters appeared from seemingly nowhere. His eyes tracked the group as they stuck close to the creek and the walls of the cliff behind them, shifting his weight to keep his head pointing their direction while using his eyes as much as possible, until they were distant specs in the distance, and he shifted back to stare at the Mirage Creek.

Something was back there. Something, behind this shifting spray, was back there and harboring rebels. He had something to report! As he was shifting his quiver on his back, the sand around him jumped, or maybe more accurately quivered, and he froze, staring at it in surprise. He watched, waited, and then again, the sand trembled, grains falling down the knoll he was on, and in a moment of instinct, perhaps from his sand dwelling cousins who preferred the sun over the moon, he pressed an ear to the knoll and sand.

Steady, like a heartbeat, something was disturbing the sand, the land around him, with heavy, mechanical foot falls that set the sand dancing against the inner fur of his ear. It was something big, something Garlean made, and something he had no intention of sticking around to find out what it was, or how far it could see.

A stupid name for a thing so serious, but it felt odd to just try and describe it without a name. And despite his attempts to come up with a better one, The Gloom had stuck. Perhaps it was more apt than he had realized it was, or maybe he was just too lazy to come up with a different one, but even now, after the forced taking of Baelsar's Gate, he had to tip his non-existent hat to his younger self.

Gloom described everyone far too well.

When the primal had risen, forced screaming into existence by The Griffon’s sacrifice, panic had swept the ranks of soldiers on the Shroud side of the wall. A panic that had subsided when it seemed as if the primal appeared and almost immediately disappeared. Or so they thought. Things happened fast, faster than most knew, that Bryn only knew because he was there, in the meetings, side by side with allies and friends who were mourning the loss of one of their own, and yet, pushed on. Pushed on and rallied to finish off the primal a life had been given to stop.

All of which led to now.

The Eorzean Alliance held Baelsar’s Gate.

Bryn was walking among the soldiers stationed within the gate with heavy, tired footfalls, and no matter where he looked he could see it. The Gloom, the realization of how many had died to take just this tiny piece of Garlean tech, to breach a wall that had separated the Black Shroud from Gyr Abania for years. And now they were expected to hold it, while Garlean attacks against it were nearly constant. It weighed on too many a soul, and Bryn knew it. They couldn’t hold this fortress if the men and women in it didn’t believe they could.

Overwhelming aether. It was something he had felt before, how many times exactly? Too many. The surge, the pull, the answer from within that wanted him to unleash, to let skin become fur and man become monster. His gaze lifted, his bayonet dripping with blood, as his eyes found the Castrum built into the wall. Where the Scions had gone.

He should have gone with them. He couldn't be tempered, he would be the perfect fit for this, but that surge of power felt far more powerful than any primal he had seen or felt before. Would they even be able to handle it? With or without him...

It didn't matter, he wasn't there, and it wasn't the task he was responsible for. No, his goal was not at the Castrum, although the surge of power he felt changed it slightly. Gone was the need to provide a quick and rapid report of Garlean spillover, instead replaced with a frantic and all more important task of removing all potential people who may be tempered.

"Bryn!" One of his scouts, panting, on foot with red coat darkened, from sweat or worse he did not know. "Garleans are fleeing in greater numbers! They know what this means, and they are abandoning the wall!" The dark haired Hyur tsked, grit his teeth, before he glanced towards the wall and gestured for the scout.

"A blessing, and a curse. Head back, well out of the range of the wall. We cannot lose our soldiers to the primal. Spread the word." A curt nod, a stumbling run, and Bryn strode the opposite way, rifle at the ready. If they were flooding from the wall, that meant they likely were heading away from The Shroud. Safety lay on the far side, away from Alliance territory, in the occupied Gyr Abania.

Towards his homeland.

It irked him, to no end, that he was stuck on this side of the wall, unable to cross it. He should be across it, fighting, maybe even with the Resistance. But their current tactic, this sudden fight, this trickery.

His head snapped up, eyes wide, a second, equally powerful blast of aether from the Castrum making him bristle. He recognized it, knew the undertones, the careful control of it, and he sucked in his breath. Papalymo.

"No," Bryn breathed out, and he was running, sprinting with heavy boot falls for the wall, green cloak fluttering around him as he picked up speed. Too much, too much power. The Lalafell was too smart to not know his limits, to not know that what he was doing...

"No!" The snap, the sudden disappearance of power, of aether, of both sources. His sprint slowed, then halted, and he closed his eyes, eyes closing, as he leaned heavily against the nearby tree. Gone. Not an inkling of it left. Papalymo...

A thrum, a pulse of power, and Bryn's eyes snapped open, looking up, up at the wall, the Castrum, and a battlefield he never saw, and never would.

The primal still lived.

Something hit her, hard, right in the side and sending her bowling through the underbrush, barely remembering to tuck and roll, before a tree arrested her motion. Her head snapped back against the trunk, vision blurring instantly, eyes watering as she tried to focus, to look up at her attacker, just to see a large, weaponized machine before her. How had it snuck up on her? Why couldn't she make out the face of the man controlling it?

Was this really how she was going to die?

She suddenly felt the intense, nearly impossible to ignore desire to return home, back to the sands and her tribe, to drop the ridiculous last name and beg for forgiveness. The unforgiving metal arm raised, angling towards her, the pilot's face the only thing no longer a blur, as she saw the grin of satisfaction on his face, towering over the small blonde Miqo'te in his seat. All she could do was screw her eyes closed, curl up, arms over her head, and pray.

Azeyma, please, not like this!

She didn't see it, but she heard it. A battle cry, shrill and sharp, the fweeeee of a chocobo stampeding through the underbrush, and the strum of a string, followed by three, firm sounding thunks. A gurgle, a hiss, and a final clunk, Silvia's eyes slowly opening, to find the leering face of her attacker slumped over his controls, the machine cold and dead, and protruding from his chest, three neat, wooden arrows. Stomps beside her, and she turned, finding an archer astride a golden yellow chocobo, pacing nervously as he gave her a grin.

"Taking a break?" She nearly laughed, if she hadn't been about to die, at the sight of Kaleh'a. Unharmed, at home in the woods he grew up in, and at ease. He didn't ask if she was okay, or fawn and dither over her, he simply slid from Chic'let's back, held out a hand, and pulled her up. "Healers are a hundred fulm to the south, if you need them." And he was handing her her spear, heading back towards Chic'let. "Can you make it?"

"Yes," she called after him, nodding rapidly. "I can!" She winced, the pain in her head lancing through her skull, realizing rapid head movements were a small mistake.

"Good! And hey, Silvia?" She looks up at the already remounted Miqo'te, his turquoise eyes gleaming. "Good work!"

And he was off, leaving her to pick her way back to the healers, an uneventful journey thanks to the work of the front line holding off the bulk of the Garlean forces fleeing from the wall. Still, that little kernel of pride burned within her, from something so simple and yet, so meaningful. The man who she had taken her last name after had just told her good work. Maybe she did belong here. Maybe she shouldn't go running back to her tribe. Maybe the healer was right and she wasn't concussed.

Until there was a surge of power, power so intense the woods around them vibrated with it, and Silvia gasped. Her ears lay flat, her tail between her legs, and the healer beside her dropped their tray of medical supplies to the ground, with one terrifying word.

A fwee, from Chic’let, her simple cry letting him know they were there, at their destination, where the small contingent of Maelstrom soldiers, by order of the Alliance, lay stationed near the wall separating Gyr Abania and The Black Shroud.

“Message! Message!” The young Miqo'te yelled, hand in the air as the guards at the camp entrance snapped to attention as he barreled past. “Baelsar’s Wall is under attack! Baelsar’s wall is under attack! Orders are to move and protect the Shroud! Do not let the fighting spill onto the civilians! Where's your commander?”

“Here.” Kaleh'a’s head turned, taking in the mountain of a man, missing an arm but still carrying himself with the air of practiced authority, easily recognizable as the Bull of Ala Mhigo. And beside him, a familiar, rugged face. He was off Chic’let, slapping the sealed missive into Flame General Raubahn Aldynn’s hand, who cracked it open as the camp came alive, and Brynhorn Fiske stood slightly behind him, reading over his shoulder.

He wasn't sure which of the two cursed, but Bryn was gone, barking orders towards the small detachment of Maelstrom scouts he undoubtedly held command of, while Kaleh'a took back the missive from Raubahn. He could see it, in his eyes, that anger, and something else. Something like hope.