Eris is by Nat!

The dark-furred coyote had to leave Salsola in search of Molcaxitl. The slave was nowhere to be found, and the last thing the grieving Auxiliary wanted to do was spend her time looking for the slave. She had half a mind to cripple the coydog like she'd done for Darijus. That would teach her to run away, the dark woman thought sourly, digging her heels into Horse's side. The big half-Percheron obeyed flawlessly, her gait increasing to a steady trot.

She had ranged as far as Halcyon when a strange scent caught her nose. Pulling Horse to a slow stop, the dark-furred coyote peered around, sharp chartreuse eyes seeking the source of the scent. It was not Molcaxitl; she knew that much. The coydog slave had a particularly distasteful odor about her; it was as if one could almost smell the servitude. Perhaps the poor creature had simply become the target of the shadowy coyote's rage.

The sight of another horse and its dismounted rider gave her momentary pause. She knew this was particularly close to Ichika's borders, and she had no desire to invoke further distrust between her pack and the mountainous one. This canine did not smell as though she was from the area, however, and Eris allowed horse closer, aware she herself must smell like Salsola. While she had splashed herself and horse with some of the perfume Isabella brought her, the dark hybrid hadn't bathed in the sea before her trek out of the packlands.

What's so special about those rocks? the coyote asked, casual as she pleased to allow Horse to meander closer to the pale woman and her own equine. Larkspur -- no, Eris's mount was ever calm, and she peered on the other horse with indifferent brown eyes.

Eris is by Alaine!

Horse paid no mind to the other animal's discomfort; the big mare looked on with the same indifference plastered over the sable Auxiliary's features. There was a spark of interest, however, when the creamy-furred wolf spoke of the usefulness of these rocks. Eris was not one with an eye for practicality; she was as likely to overlook such a bounty as she was to mine it for what it was worth. This was not so far from Salsola, and it was good to know such treasures existed here.

I see, she said, nodding as she did so. And you -- make arrows and daggers? the woman inquired, pondering just who she had stumbled across. I am Eris, she said, introducing herself sans pack and surname. The pack's scent -- should the creamy wolf recognize it -- announced her as a Salsolian well enough. She was beyond caring, however -- Larkspur was dead, Harrow was gone, Molcaxitl was missing.

Who was next? Perhaps she would meet her her end here at the base of the mountains, at this tawny woman's hands. Perhaps that was fitting, too -- the dark hybrid did not look on death with any sort of fear. Larkspur was in the afterlife, and her dead children -- Shibboleth and Solanaceae. Her other children would join her, too, someday -- so what did she have to fear from death but temporary separation?