Guinevere’s lips curled in distaste as Balerion clearly attempted to tear her apart with words. Blast the boy. She’d have to be careful. “I do not wish to impede upon your authority,” she said in a bored tone. “If you wanted me to control my tongue, all you had to do was ask. I assure you, I have no interest in slaughtering kings. Especially since you seem like the type of pack to rip out my throat if I step out of line.” Her wings fluttered. “I suppose if I have to, I’ll stay. It’s not like I have anywhere to go anyway.” Guinevere stared Balerion down. Her blue eyes glittered. She switched to her native language: “Žodžiu, man nerūpi tavo seksistiniai įstatymai. Eik velniop. Darysiu tai, kas man patinka.” Her intent was that the boy would not understand her. English seemed to be the common form of speaking here.
Guinevere’s weight shifted back and forth. She studied Balerion’s wings, his fire. What a curious wolf. She’d never seen one like him. Honestly, she was liking this land. This pack would be a challenge, and she loved challenges. Her eyes sparked ominously. And she’d fallen right into a war? She was in luck. Honestly, the last war she’d known was close to one year ago. That was far too long. She needed some new excitement.



"She comes for your bones, she comes for your blood"