'Twas several days after her fight with Torleik that she heard the call of her name on the wind, stirring her into existence. She was patrolling along the outside of the Basin's borders, knowing that closer to her home the Sentinels would protect them well. However, a warrior's work was never accomplished. It tired the female, but she knew she had to be stronger than the others. It was the path of the warrior she chose, then, between her herd and her Plague. Aviya was an assassin, a coiled snake waiting beneath a bush with intent to strike. She was powerful, eager to learn and display her might, and she was cunning. Smart, yearning for knowledge.

Perhaps Aviya would explore more within the ranks of the Basin.

For now, however, she followed the call of her name on the wind. The voice was familiar, the ring of her younger brother, stained in darkness and blood. An amused and intrigued smirk lit her pale face as she trotted through the snow. The terrain was easily maneuverable in the coming spring, heightening itself towards summer. "You called?" The princess called out, her voice smooth on the cold wind, but dark and laced with danger. Her observant, icy eyes falling on her brother's dark form. She was so like her, just an inch taller, and splattered with a murder scene. He was truly a handsome boy, mirroring her beauty, gifted by their exquisite parentage. "It is surprising to see you so far north, Sacre." She mused, turning her shoulder some to walk to his side, half-circling him. One might look down on her and see her mimicry of the mountain cats that prowled around her home, others might see a warrior sizing up her opponent. Neither were wrong, nor were either correct.

Stopping at his flank, just far enough to reach out with her pink-touched muzzle and plant a kiss on him, Aviya turned once more. She squared her shoulders, though the delicate and feminine curvature of her body made her look more like a slithering snake than a hardened statue. She tilted her head some, frosted forelock falling to cover one of her blue eyes, her mother painted in their depths. Did Sacre know of her death? Of her killer? The thoughts danced inside of the dark woman, but instead she asked an entirely different question. "Where is your wombmate?"