"Gemini."

It's not so much a greeting as it's a statement of fact, breathlessly muttered by a bleary-eyed puppy. That is Gemini. Gemini is who is speaking. You are Gemini; I am not Gemini. That is the level that, for a moment, Ember's brain is working on. But she is a daughter of Ceron, and a particularly healthy one at that. She took very well to the genemods, bears incredible stamina, and has never broken a bone in all her time among the pack. So it is hardly a surprise that she is able, once Gemini moves her foot, to shift Sagetip's heavy body onto the street beside her.

She sits up onto her knees, and then dives back down to the pavement, pressing her aching head against the cool stone. It is damp with the breath of dawn.

"Honored scentmistress! I have acted as honor and love demand, but I know I deserve no mercy for my crimes!" No mercy. Gemini's love is merciless, a scythe with which she could defeat entire armies, were it necessary. Her love is a net, a gag, the smoke from a fire. "I only ask that you be mindful of Peril, which is present, which I tried to warn our pack away from!"

Peril, whose name is Mosaic. Peril, who even now defeats Taurus (that there could be any other outcome is alien to Ember's mind). Peril, who would kick Gemini into the ocean tied to a crab if she doesn't think that Ember's punishment isn't amusing or cute enough.

Ember does not rise. She remains prostrate, tail drooped, ears low, willing to remain her all day if that is what her honor demands. After all, she's been trained very well.

In the distance, the low moans of the Silver Divers, the clink of chains, the cheers of the people of Beri.