Dawnlark Plains The silver apples of the moon

It was a stumble and a splash that drew Saena's attention away from the distant mount and back to the puddle she'd just vacated. Her ears swung forward as she turned in place, catching only a glimpse of the red-haired wolf that flung themselves to the ground. Puzzled, the she-wolf swept her tongue across her jowls nervously and stepped nearer. She held herself loosely, that she could spring away at any moment if the opposing wolf proved to be a dangerous one, and the fur on her nape stood on end as she leaned close enough to smell a myriad smells: stone, water, a sharp and acrid plant smell, vomit, and Reek principle among them.

She drew her head back, her expression laced with equal parts concern and distaste. This was without a doubt one of Reek's followers, judging by the heavy aroma, and she was loathe to help any wolf that aligned themselves with that piece of trash. On the other hand, it was clear from how the wolf huddled fearfully to the ground that something was amiss. Saena was not a protector of the weak by any means—in her new state she was more likely to dispatch them than to save them—but something stayed her from seeking revenge against her ex-mate, and she was glad it did. Only when she drew close enough did she recognize the sick, disoriented wolf for who she was, and Saena sought to close the gap instantly when she did.

"Indra!" she breathed in a tone coloured sick with worry, but caution—and cold mistrust for the child who had shunned her as surely as had Laurel, even without words—held her back from making contact. Instead, she lowered her head to a less threatening level, allowing her ears to press back submissively, and asked, "what happened to you? What has he done?" She could not recognize the poison in her daughter's system for what it was, but she knew something was very wrong. She could only assume it was Reek's doing in some way or another, as she assumed every bad thing in this world was.