They would need to be dealt with. Something had to be done, and the sable-hued woman did not think herself capable of doing what needed doing. Her mind knew the logical answer, but her heart would not so much as hear it. It was the very same one Larkspur had whispered to her, the very same principle upheld in Eterne. Blood to strengthen blood and cull the weak all at once. But Shibboleth was hers...
The hybrid remained stone-still only a moment longer, as a distant voice called for her attention. Her head twisted and she peered through the darkness with that sharp gaze of green-yellow flame, seeking the speaker. A paler shadow crept toward her, body and tail speaking submission, and the hybrid recognized the shock of purple on the younger woman's head. Maggie. The coyote thought of the glittering necklace, the gift she had received as Maggie's price for entrance and acceptance to Salsola. She did not wear it at this moment, but she knew where it was, tucked safely amongst her prized possessions.
Maggie, she said, her voice warm as the night air hanging around them. Come and sit with me, she invited, turning her head back to the sea. It was not a command, though the pallid canine might misconstrue it as such.
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