The Sentinels the soul after death

Sleep did not come so easily to the Mayfair any longer, so when Deirdre’s voice rang through the air, beckoning the wolves of Donnelaith, the swarthy wolf was only too keen to check in upon his youngest sibling. Responsibility had settled upon his shoulders now – one silently taken on without word when his father had passed, leaving he and his sister as the eldest of Lasher’s heritage. Constantine did not know what the future held now for the pack, but he was determined to ensure it would not disappointment their athair.
 
His pale sister moved beneath the blanket of moonlight – her pale fur shining like a beacon of light. He spoke nothing as he settled nearby, his gaze watching her as she went to work. There was something soothing about watching her continue her craft without the druid – she had not given up, the way he almost had when she tended his wounds.
 
Sweeping in to sit gingerly, Constantine’s fiery eyes roved upon the grave of Lasher – feeling the wrench in his heart twist once more at the loss they felt now.