The Sentinels the mordant liquor of tears

In the face of recent events, Raven felt strangely detached from her companions.  Perhaps it was a side effect of some of the trauma she'd been exposed to as a child, enabling her to compartmentalize and separate herself from emotions that sometimes ran high in situations like this.  She just felt numb to it all.  She hadn't even known the wolf that was killed, but it was still a wolf of Donnelaith and though Raven was unsettled by the idea of war, she understood it was necessary.  There were babies here now, and if they weren't prepared to defend their homeland -- possibly with their lives -- then those children would be killed, the future generation of their pack extinguished.  The aggressors would continue to harry their ranks, picking them off and worrying their borders, until all of Donnelaith crumbled.

Raven would not allow that.  She was not a warrior, but she was a healer.  And while plants could help, they could also poison.  The black tendrils of that evil little idea snaked through her mind as she listened to Lasher speak, anger flickering in her heart at the distress she saw in her alpha.