Roar, Lioness. Roar

Home of the Pride

"Latisha, let's go."

Rebel gestures towards the woods, her eyes screaming an entire conversation with a look. Patch, Tick, Anya, and Bria watch with neutral eyes. None wish to take sides in an internal rivalry less they become a tool in the conflict. Latisha doesn't need to guess at their loyalties. Rebel and Verlaine are her cats, through and through. Patch and Tick's loyalty lies with one another. Bria is a rival whether she extends her claws or not, and Red Anya is an unknown. She owes her huntress, but has never put herself on the line.

Latisha smirks then looks back up at Lexca. She nods and gives the hand signal for the hunting party to move on. The ladies gather their packs and continue on their way. Lexca draws out a peculiar horn and blows, sending a shrill roar across the mesa that is the heart of Yellow Sun territory. A signal to let the pride know a pack has come home.

"Latisha, a sandstorm is coming."

Verlaine lowers her scope and points back east towards Market Town. The sky has become dark and the horizon is a rust and umbral haze. The Spill Ridge, the border between Red Rock and Yellow Sun territory, always visible from this vantage, is barely discernible.

"It's huge and moving quickly," a woman says as she steps out of the watchtower with a spyglass.

"You'd better move along, cub," Lexca says dismissively. "They will need help in the interior battening down."

Latisha makes a point of ignoring the older woman.

"Let's go."

She sets off at a run and quickly takes the lead. Her hunting party follows with Rebel and the slave girl bringing up the rear. Through tall trees and thinning brush, they weave back and forth between a number of winding and intertwining paths until emerging into a section of cleared forest. A single watchtower covers the expanse. Two more towers are under construction on the expanding edges of the field. The pride expands its fortifications with each moon. Their home is growing and, with each expansion, The Yellow Sun dies a little bit more.

Reavers reap, they never sow.

Reavers take, they never make.

Burn walls! Burn walls! Burn!

"We're sowing, mother," Latisha says to herself. "And it's slowly killing us."

Across the clearing and through the woods they run, heralded by another cat horn. The leaves of the forest canopy sing and chatter as the winds begin to pick up. A group of women in drab abayas join them from another path carrying baskets full of forage. Their numbers grow as more women join the procession. They break the treeline and on the other side of fifty yards of clear-cutting rises the walls of Pride Home, seat of power for The Yellow Sun reaver clan and proof that they've lost their edge.

High stone and metal walls protect the outer village and an equally high barrier guards the inner. Guard posts dot the perimeter, equipped with harpoon launchers and cranks, taking inspiration from The Scrap Queen's yard. Like with the watchtowers, more are constantly under construction. The Lioness and her brightest wildcats painstakingly designed the defenses of the town, but its effectiveness has yet to be put to the test.

Latisha isn't the only one who believes the walls are a challenge to the other clans. It isn't a matter of if the attack is coming, but when.

A bell rings, signaling that the last pack has returned. More women rush along the walls from the outskirts. The foragers and gatherers hurry through the heavy gates, worried they will be sealed outside the protective walls. Sandstorms can be just as deadly as wild animals, squids, and other reavers.