Hoshor Plains Shor Tawakof

Vitihi raced across the plains with haste to heed her Khal's call. It wasn't long before the scent of wolf's-blood wafted pungently upon the breeze. When she had arrived many had already gathered - some faces familiar, and some not. However, in the center was a felled Dothoran wolf of Rakharo's tribe. She was grievously wounded, brown pelt frayed and messy with open wounds oozing despite a thick layer of webs.

The khalas buzzed with questions. What happened? Who did this? Will she live? The maiden's orange eyes moved between her people, but rested upon the wisest of them all: Laqikki. Unfortunately, the crone's words alluded to a grim outcome. There is nothing to help her here, the elder said. Vitihi looked to their companion with a sympathetic gaze before turning back to Rakharo, awaiting his word.