Dragoncrest Cliffs who said this was a game

The uncertainty that hangs in the air, and in the hearts of the clan, has all but exhausted Tirgatao of her emotional reserves. But still she stands, steady as the stones, to endure whatever quiet resolve the pack can glean from her tireless vigil. It is her duty, as Shouna, to be there for them when no other can. To bring them comfort, and solace, in their grief. As if Thuringwethil's illness hadn't struck so deep a blow against the wolves she commanded, the fates deigned to steal Wildfire from them. She was as a ghost in the fog, and left no trace of ever existing at all.

Tirgatao couldn't help but wonder: when would Drageda find a reprieve? 

The wind coming off the sea prevented her from picking up Dio's scent, nor sound of his paws against the sand, so she was somewhat startled when he speaks up and puts words to the very thing she was attempting to conclude in her mind. She turned her head towards him, looking slightly surprised for a moment, before her expression returned to it's characteristically (if not slightly tired) genteel set. "Wocha." She greeted warmly, only to nod and hum a note to herself—"if only it could do more." Tirgatao surmised with an uneasy twist of her ear. 

Often, she was more apt to allow others to direct the flow of conversation, but she couldn't help but make an attempt to reach out, "How are you holding up?"