Amara waited only long enough for her wounds to heal to the point that they weren't dropping blood before heading toward the center of the pridelands. She had only made one trip out of the pride before this meeting with Roan. Things had changed some now that they had been challenged. Amara needed to check in with the pride and to make sure that things were clear moving forward. This pride wasn't going to be one that just went down without a fight and anyone that wasn't going to take part, shouldn't be here. Every single member should be giving something to the pride and she needed to know from each of them what that was. She sat down and called for the pride to come to her, all of them including the cubs of the pride since they seemed keen on fighting as well. She also wanted to make sure they all knew that the win wasn't just for her. It was for her family. For the pride and she needed to see their loyalty as well.

Table by Ice. Graphic by Lars.

The call was expected and, luckily, he was near enough when it went out. His vague mission from Vermier had been completed to the best of his current ability, with a little extra tension sown for flavor. After the challenge, and his own fight afterward, he'd spent some time exploring the territory and finally selecting a den for himself. It was a nice little natural cave, though it needed some decoration - a nice pelt on the floor, a few souvenirs from hunts (and opponents).

Ryker would arrive with a curious expression, and a respectful nod in the speckled woman's direction as he selected a spot near what was sure to be the front of the group. He expected the usual business, a leader reaffirming her status and expectations after a challenge, but the bluffs had been clever thus far so perhaps there were yet more surprises to be revealed.

I'm a friend of the devil I'm a dangerous rebel

Fighting my way through the sins of the street I'm feeling psycho, psycho Where did my mind go? Biting my tongue and I'm loading my gun Back to the wind, better run, better run I'm feeling crazy, crazy Go 'head and make me It's the life that I can't escape, can't walk away There's blood in the ocean And I'm losing focus I'm a friend of the devil I'm a dangerous rebel

code by corvus

It isn't particularly surprising when Amara calls; the challenge has changed things, even if they did keep the interlopers from taking their home. It means another certain enemy, and one whose determination she is yet uncertain of. Their next steps are important, their cohesion mandatory if they are to keep surviving as they have before.

Whilst she knows these affairs are rather wasted upon her sister, Bee seeks out @Ursula first anyway, tracking down her path through the rubble until she's found the huntress, brushing her muzzle fondly against her sibling's cheek. And then she's headed for the heart of the prideland, a comfortable stroll carrying nimble legs to the gathering.

There's only one here besides Amara, and her gaze drifts over the vaguely familiar form of Ryker as she prowls towards the queen. She offers @Amara a brief greeting, bumping her skull against the speckled woman's cheek and sidling past. She communicates best with body language, as many of the Bezras do, and she holds Amara in a higher regard than most anyone else in her life.

Taking advantage of a large, flat boulder nearby, Beelzebub launches herself onto the vantage point and settles onto her belly, her forepaws dangling over the edge. Her languid gaze mostly watches Amara, but she is attentive to any others who filter in after her, ever watchful of her surroundings.

i chase the devil into the sky

Knowledge was not welcomed here. Wolfbron was neither inviting nor nurturing. They seemed a family of secrets, of unspoken words and exchanged glances. Charax is perhaps an outcast in her own house - not a home - but walls to provide purpose. Though for it’s lacking wholesomeness, for now, The Bluffs is all a simple woman needs.

The marbled vixen heeds the call with readiness; her march from nearby borders more akin to a rhythmical lope, enough to cause her sides to pant vaguely and her jaw to hang. The air is thin, her lungs still adapting to altitude, perhaps in sync with her soul to servitude.

She comes to stand amongst the small group, close but not imposing, her stance rigid, engaged, far from the casual lax of a nearby Bee. A vague bend in her elbows bringing her charcoal breast lower than her hips, a thoughtless gesture of subordinance.

’cause he’s the one who taught me how to fly

_{— art by yumpy}

There was a distinct quietness to his normal somber and sullen facade. One that had seen his home be fought for and continued to be won, another day and another downed. They might not have many allies but they certainly did have the unity that a pride was meant to have. That was probably one thing in Mithros' life that he actually understood. So he ventured ever closer to the gathering with a slow, Neanderthal-like pace and settled down near to where @Beelzebub sat, a little behind so that he could freely look to the lioness at her side (@Charax) and wonder who the hell this lioness was and why he had never met her before. Was he attracted to her? Maybe, it was honestly so hard to tell sometimes since he wasn't really sure what it was meant to feel like. No one had ever really shared what it felt like to know when you found someone worth being around until you're dead and in the ground.

table by sentinel

A call? It piquek the Dieudonne man's interest. He hasn't ever been called upon with such haste, and he could only assume what the starry-pelted Dieudonne was wanting to discuss. He was loyal to any Dieudonne woman, but especially those that had proven themselves worthy of his loyalty. Amara didn't disappoint. She carried herself as a leader and defended this kingdom. All in the span of Apollinaire's arrival.

The neat man made his way towards the summons with a confident prowl, each step measured. Crimson eyes narrowed in on the few gathered lions, his attention quickly stolen by a marbled thief. It's her. He drank the air that carried her scent. It was oh so sweet and taunting as the first time. No, perhaps even more taunting.

She was a stranger still, the first time Apollinaire had laid eye upon her curvaceous shapes was during a different challenge. His mouth began to water, teeth itching with morbid curiosity. Surely, this was fate that brought them together again, under one roof at that! His lip pulled in a smirk as he appeared to stand at @Charax's side, keeping a respectful distance between them. Her scent overwhelmed him, but he restrained the demons that wanted nothing but to taste her. Instead, his movement was dance-like as he courteously dipped his muzzle first at Amara, then at the lady beside him. "Bonjour," his thick-accented voice greeted, haunches reclining to take a seat. "Apollinaire Dieudonne," An introduction. "Pleased to meet you, mademoiselle," He said nonchalantly, making it seem as if he sat here by chance. Simply a good spot to enjoy the meeting.

Oleander heeded the summons. Amara had managed to hold the Bluffs where the Lagoon had been lost. A home was still held for the moment without needing to completely start over again. Still, there were lingering thoughts of requisitioning the Lagoon. These were thoughts that needed discussing with someone whom could actually make decisions. Amara had the Bluffs so it couldn't be her. Maybe Cassine would hear him out, she was Matriarch after all.

Ole stood apart from the group. He remained tense and at ready. Vermier had taught him to expect an attack to come at any moment. It was why the young adult refused to relax. His ears swiveled atop his skull to take in the ambient sounds around him, listening for the slightest of changes. His gaze was pinned on Amara though, showing that he paid attention still.

The hounds were beckoned; her summons clarion in his ears. There came that old impulse to forego it, to continue in his indolence, to spare all with a show of half-intended fealty. It was for her, beyond doubt, he was held to the Bluffs. Their children, her, and her children. Blessedness of their existence, if this were their home it would be his. He wondered soon after the challenge, if his actions came from loyalty to that or a simple fact of Iseult’s arrival. There came an urging, one that he would not toil with. It was a sharp embrace, a scathing sensation. Savouring it, there sang a heat to his dark presence. Joining their numbers, he paused and glanced to see who of his little family would arrive next.

Whatever scuffle had occurred within Wolfbron had not been Lycaonia's main concern. Conflict wasn't something she wished to be apart of, and none of the lions here held ties to her, at least not anything deep. She'd attempted to cleanse the lands of negative energy, but perhaps the pride brought negativity unto itself.

Across the bluffs came the call from Amara; the pride was amassing. Pale legs carried her across the rocky ground to join the group of lions committed to the bluffs. Strange how she knew very little of those gathered yet lived among them. Upon arrival it's the umbra face of Amara that she recognizes, none of the others are familiar to her. Her pallid features are a clash to those that live among the rocky bluffs, though she is not concerned by pelt colors alone. Just the hungry eyes that seem to wait for instruction from their queen.

Quiet as ever she had padded to the back of the group. Bobbed bottom glided to the ground as she sat in wait for what news was to come. She'd only heard of the conflict through telltale chatter around the pride, though of course was oblivious to the meaty bits of news. Whatever lay in store she wished not to be a soldier on the front lines.

CODE • LION • BG

THIS PLACE IS DEATH

let's writhe, let me see you trip. one move that will keep you wet. let's fall in a long sadistic trance

Win or loss, scars had always been preferred property to the exile prince, so there is no shame in the stinging cuts and mottled flesh when he arrives to the call of their Wolfbron sovereign. Above all, the short-made adrenaline frenzy served to rattle the rust from his titan bones - he had rested in the dark hollows of caves and the jungle dark long enough in comfort. Each pang was a reminder of his appetites, and each appetite would swell into famishment.

Carnal devil, cultured only in the manners of primitive wants. A nod is the most of his acknowledgement; he leaves quiet politics of gracious gestures to others in this land of strangers. Only three are familiar to him: the bowed figure of Charax (who receives a sideways glance of brief wonder), their own deserving Sovereign glorious in her bruisings and netting wounds, and the fiendish delight of a handsome @Baphomè, whose company Gauthier decides to share.

He waits only a small distance from his long-lost comrade, leaving space for the family he had seen in the battle.