As they trickle in, she scrutinizes their expressions, searching for that tremble of a lip, either in anger or fear. How do the people of Delumine feel? Are they terrified of the shadows, or do they hunger for blood, for vengeance, just as she does? It is hard to think of the Dawn Court as anything but peacekeepers and harmonizers, but perhaps she can rally them, bring their blood to a simmer (a boil might be asking too much). 

Sloane is quiet tonight, which is uncharacteristic of the sharp-tongued mare. Pavetta made a mental note to check in with her. The young Prince, as ever, takes after his brave mother and father. She can't help but crack a smile at his earnest declaration of finding the beast.

As far as the borders, it was not an altogether unwise solution—albeit temporary. Chaos brewed in Solterra and with the borders closed and on high alert, Delumine would be prepared for any fallout from their neighbors that would affect the kingdom in a negative way. She can’t help but harbor curiosity—more accurately—a morbid fascination with ongoings in Solterra.

Which in turn stirs guilt; her job title doesnt exactly condone warmongering usurpers. What of Bex, her golden-skinned, dagger-eyed friend? Would she be harmed in the aftermath of the dismantling of the current Regime? Did she seek safe harbor, or was she imprisoned?

She can’t dwell on such thoughts right now—she must focus on the needs of her people, of Delumine. She listens quietly as Somnus speaks his part, every bit the regal king that a kingdom in disarray can look to and find comfort in. His voice is warmth and sunlight—he is the Dawn and everything Delumine represents. She finds herself in frequent awe of his unwavering moral compass, his steely resolve and the way he never lets the marble, perfect image of the regal king slip, never lets it crack. He bears the crown heavily but it never shows; he wears it as if it weighs no more than a feather.

But because he is Somnus, he is also somewhat predictable. Raum outlawed from Delumine. Somnus speaks of him with such disdain it is almost astounding. She studies his stern features closely—she has never seen Somnus entertain such open, festering resentment for someone before. Which makes her all the more curious about the situation in Solterra—she needs to know the whole story.

The topic switches to patrols and a hunting party for the creature. She frowns ever so slightly; she has her misgivings about the effectiveness of patrols and a loud, lumbering patrol through the forest. Surely such a creature of cunning and efficiency would hear them coming from a mile away? They did not yet know its strengths, weaknesses, or even what it looked like. She is no soldier, does not have the expertise and experience of many present here, but she is a survivor of the Rift and one doesn’t survive the Rift without learning a thing or two about monsters.

Hunt or be hunted. And sometimes the hunting must be creative.

She is back in the Rift, alone. She has no Pomona, no Fearghal. There is only the long night and howl of creatures she did not know the names of. She recalls the hot, putrid breath on her heels, the horror it inspired and how even when it was gone, she did not feel safe. 

She was but a girl, then. It is different now, Pavetta is different. She is more excited by the prospect of a little vengeance, of a hunt, of turmoil and chaos. She is restless; it’s all she can do to stand at attention during the  meeting. Her thoughts are elsewhere, in a dark, shadowy place with that creature lurking in the forest.

“Sign me up where you please, Ulric. Pomona has keen eyes and silent flight, utilize her where you would as well…” She mulls her next choice of words over carefully. She doesn’t want to offend or step on toes, merely present an idea. “Ulric,” she asks, somewhat hesitantly. Suggesting her idea to such a seasoned, skilled warrior…was it silly to fear that she might sound foolish after all? “What do you think of a trap?”

(ugh this is all over the place, sry)

a pearl in pigshit, a diamond on the finger of a rotting corpse,
creature in whom nothing, but nothing, remains of an elven woman ---