The belt is cloth, and she pulls it snug around her hips. Under the slightly baggy shirt, the [i]focale[/i] serves as a wrap. Her ears hide under the maze-patterned kerchief that her [i]good boy[/i] offered up freely. His tail is still going [i]thwap thwap thwap[/i] in happiness behind her, and the temptation to double back and give him some more scritchies is strong. But that Warsphere has her on edge. Almost impossible for it to be anything more than a coincidence, but Ceronians don't trust in coincidences. Treat it like it's deliberate. Compromise could be flowing either way: it would be [i]just[/i] like Plundering Fang to get wind of troop movements and use it to set her [i]favorite[/i] chew toy up to fail, but on the other side of the knife, the Azures could be trying to catch any Ceronians they could get their coils around after having a sighting reported by a gossip.

But an entire Warsphere? She's definitely not important enough for an entire Warsphere to deploy just to get their hands on her, and it would be a long shot to gamble on catching Plundering Fang and her posse. Still. Now that they're out in force today, they'll take any victory they can get, and that includes catching her (and, in the process, making her fail her training exercise).

[i]Tributary Team Chaksha, at risk. Attack at dusk. Inform Gemini.[/i]

Too much open ground between her and Beri proper. Risk of interdiction. Cloudy weather, but no rainscent (she is on her toes, sniffing the air, without conscious decision). His bicycle: possible asset, suggestive of property ownership, easier to blend in while still making good time. But a pleasure ride at this time in the morning? Suspicious. She needs: ah. There we go.

The clink of glass; she sways her hips, lifts her tail as she bends down to pull out the bottles, each one handcrafted. A way of apology to her good, good boy, sitting there so quiet and so pretty. Each one filled to the base of the neck, then sealed tight. "You'll be able to go and fetch them later, won't you~?"

First: she does her gear check, tightens the back wheel, adjusts the seat. Second: she lines the front basket with a cloth, soft to avoid jarring the bottles. Third: she sets two wooden dividers in the basket, wedges them in snugly. Fourth: she slots them in, three bottles to each row. Fifth: close the door behind her and walk the bicycle down to the main road.

Just a simple farm girl out on the milk run, Warsphere. These are headed for Dolce's, necessary for his drinks: stirred into coffee, served with ice, thickened into cream. She had too much anyway, you know, it would have gone to waste, and besides, Dolce always cooks too much. (Wouldn't be the first cover she's associated with him, but he's the perfect mark. Responds better to cuteness and the feeling that he's helping someone who needs it than he would to kisses and compliments breathed into his ear. Only risk is losing track of time after he insists on feeding you. Need a reason to skip out early.)

She lets the brake go slack and starts downhill, grinning as she starts picking up speed. It's a different kind of thrill than diving and climbing are, but one she can definitely appreciate. She'd never been on one before...

Before her initiation. Or before her arrival on Bitemark. Or before whatever else she'd done before that. Swordplay, sailing, service. All components of what she offers to her new pack. But you'd think she would have remembered if she'd ridden these things before her arrival. Not that [i]this[/i] is her first time now. Five years gives a wolf plenty of time to get occasional practice in.