The Sentinels the mordant liquor of tears

Chaol could sense the sadness and grief that plagued Donnelaith. He was new here, and did not know much of the drama that was going on but knew, nevertheless, that something terrible had happened and felt his packmates's pain as if it was his own. Perhaps he might not have been there, perhaps he hadn't been here long enough to understand, but the Iscariot was an empathetic creature and he grieved on their behalf. He did not attempt to soothe or comfort anyone, knowing that a stranger's help would mean nothing, but instead did the only thing he knew to do which was to help out when it was needed and patrol the borders as often as he could.

And it was where he was when the call from Donnelaith's King pierced through the air. Chaol came as quickly as he could, noticing first the bedraggled and grieving Lasher, then his packmates and, avoiding eye contact, sat down and awaited for the meeting to start. When they were all here, the Alpha spoke, filling the white wolf in with all the drama and events that had taken place. There had been attacks, attacks on children and the King's own son had been wounded by the same madmen. Chaol had noticed the tiny hesitation in Lasher's voice when it came to his son, and could only imagine how hard it must've been for him.

Lasher asked for help with relocating the kids, as well as commanding them to stay within Donnelaith's borders. That, Chaol could do. He'd just came here anyways, he had no intention to leave just yet. Right now, the pack needed every single one of them, and it was his duty to do whatever he could do to help. As the lowest rank, there was, really, nothing he could do but to obey. So he sat quietly and listened.