Sleeping Dragon time sours, rots, renews, sours again

Sangilak moved along the borderline with her thoughts rampant. Lucani had not died that day, which intrigued Sangilak. For whatever reason, Thuringwethil had not killed the healer herself. And so the gray woman had not, in fact, perished. But she was greatly weakened and would require care. Knowing only the basics, Sangilak could provide none of that; her attempts to aid had been in vain that evening, as nothing Sangilak had done had been beneficial. The woman did not feel like a failure for that; not everyone could be saved, and Sangilak had very little interest in being a savior. She was more at ease in her role of the reaper, and as she lingered at the borderline Sangilak thought on this.

Her eyes sought the horizon. She was sure Tatkret would be due to return any day now with some measure of information for her. This was not her mountain; Sangilak knew one day she would have this but at present, she was situated in Drageda. She tested others, learned of their strengths and weaknesses. Still she knew little of the wolves above her in the ranks, though she desired to. @Hush was a small wolf she felt she could overtake if given an opportunity to. If he crossed her path this evening, she would try to do just that. There was a feeling of discontent brewing within the Epsilon, deep in her belly. A change that was approaching, but that had yet to arrive.