Northstar Vale The little deaths are a little less, even if just for a moment

She asked, but in her adjoining petulance, sought to leave before he could answer her. Warbone heaved at the thought of her insistent youth, an irrationality to her rebuttal that should have been left with her formative teenage self. If he had known Laurel, he would have known instantly from which parent she had gotten her entitled disposition from, and had Saena not collapsed, the wolf might have sought to rectify that in her.

He looked down at her, biting back a very powerful urge to end her right there. It was staved further by the appearance of several of their pack, all of whom hung back uncertainly from the bristling first male and their prone first female. If it weren't for the lack of blood on him, it would have appeared that he was the culprit. Warbone glared, easing to his stomach beside Saena, a low growl warning none of them to come nearer. "Hunt for her... please," he managed to strain through his gritted teeth, watching as the collected turned one-by-one to heed his pertinent request.

His anger had ebbed, but as he swung his head and peered over her body, the wounds he saw formed a large lump in his throat, and for a moment he thought he might stop breathing. 

"You had honor when you abandoned what you believed in to keep your children alive," he sighed, seeming to resign to something -- or else, just put it aside for now. "There is no honor in this." Warbone had yet to touch her, or offer any comfort of the sort. Perhaps he had wanted her to suffer still, but now he saw no point to it. His muzzle, his tongue reached out to one of her less mended wounds, tentative as he tested her hatred for what he said to her.