Qeya River Those who are about to die will say anything.

The only hint of confusion that crosses Thuringwethil’s face is the slight bury of her brows as the other speaks, having seen teeth in her direction a moment prior. She snarls and keeps her own launch from propelling forward, knocking the wolf into the snow—she starts to lose her trail of conversation, falling back onto her haunches. Her shoulders slump and the dark woman remains still, listening as she fumbles over the last few words of her accusation.

“I ordered no hit on your wolves.”

The wolf could be lying to her but overwhelmed with the sudden information, she doubts her frustrations are for show. If a hit had been ordered, unknown to her, she had to believe somewhere in the string of her leaders and advisors. The same wolves that caused her to dissolve her home but none had been missing from the summit that night.  Thuringwethil takes a breath, a step back, and lets her spine relax and smooth her fur back down.

“Seageda is no more because of corruption. If I had to guess, it has something to do with what happened.”

Radova had no reason to believe her, Thuringwethil had no reason to believe Radova, but so far from either of their homes, what is the point of lying?