Lion Head Mesa thirty-seventh

‘That’s a shame,’ Wren offered less than helpfully, leaning into him as she presses a paw to her lips. Was she going to hurl? Or was she trying to not word vomit on all of them?

He pauses—the effect of the berries would likely continue to worsen before becoming better, and Akavir has to bite his tongue at Senmut’s offer. Seemed as if Wren had imbibed more than enough—though he wouldn’t speak for her.

He thought of the Sharpfang close at home—fellahin. His stomach twists.

Shifting, his muzzle dipping down to preen at the crown of Wren’s head before casting a sideways glance to Senmut, he continues twenty questions, despite the golden wolf’s persistent invitations. “By benefit for the kingdom, you mean ties to an outside pack?”

Pawns upon a chessboard, perhaps. But it didn't explain quite the way in which Akashingo would benefit by such an alliance. He had always assumed Brecheliant quiet in their ways. What was it they offered the redstone kingdom?