Change Comes Whether We Like it or Not.

The Voodoo Priestess had a shrewd and distant glaze in her mango colored eyes, her tufted ear-tips flattened against the back of her scaly neck, the sinew flexing beneath the golden metallic allure as the vision of Vishess was setting behind her and lighting the sandy dunes surrounding the hot spring into a fiery color. She gazed down at the plumes of vapor distorting the springs, and for a moment she could have almost imagined the olive-gold armor of a particular Vire. A rather obnoxiously egotistical Vire, that may or may not have been the ever infamous Rex of the Craters. Could almost see that charismatic and impossibly smug gleam in his gilded eyes as he cast her some playful remark he knew would make her blood seethe.

It seems N'Kalla's past had caught up with him, as it so often does to all Vires. The Priestess knew the male was not dead, only gone. But that did not seem to quell the acute void the weight of his departure had left her with. She didn't even quite understand the melancholy it made her feel. Only that... his vanishing made the Craters seem emptier. And perhaps deep down, in some part of her she wouldn't even admit to herself, she missed him and held out for a hope he would return some day.

But she could not let the clan see such things. It was up to her now to keep the clan strong and tethered together tightly until a new Rex or Rexine was proclaimed for them. So today she was actually making an effort at being more present and proactive with the clan, rather than holed up in her private grotto among her herbs and tinctures. Her Spirit Guide, Corona, seemed astutely aware of her mistress' odd behavior, and was currently floating in an amorphous bubbly like shape of inky blackness in the air around the Viress.