Ravensblood Forest the swirling stream of what is and what was

NOTE: Lotte heard from, “A yearling met us on the borders and tried to lure us in,” just to get that out there. She did not hear anything before that, so she has no idea what pack it was or that Dakarai lost his memory. ♥ She will be back in the next round with Seelie. I apologize for her hormones!

Following her return to Teaghlaigh, Lotte was never far from Arturo — she moved more slowly than her daughter and mate due to her weakened constitution, but arrived at the territory borders in a timely enough manner to catch the tail end of Dakarai’s story. The female — Olive, she surmised — had run into an aggressive pack’s territory borders? It was fortunate for all parties involved that Lotte was more than adept at keeping her expression innocuous even under great duress, because her strategist’s mind blared with how utterly stupid that decision seemed. Moonbright eyes fell upon Dakarai first, appraising his wounds with an experienced eye; the shoulder would require looking at, but the wounds on his face appeared shallow and scabbed over. It wouldn’t hurt to have that ear looked at either, just to make sure he didn’t succumb to frostbite and lose the rest of it. Lotte turned from Dakarai to Olive, noting what appeared to be swelling around one ankle, but she couldn’t be sure — the amount of rust, pink, and crimson that stained her pale fur made it hard to tell where the wounds actually were, but she seemed in good spirits, and —

— and she was pregnant.

In that moment, Lotte knew true jealousy, though her black-masked visage did not shift in any way, shape, or form to reveal her mood. She reached for Solene’s stoicism and Kitku’s charm and held onto them with white knuckles and gritted teeth. “Dakarai, you are bleeding,” she pointed out quietly, her mellifluous alto blandly observant and devoid of the frustration that twisted sickly in her gut. “Blood leaves a trail.” He ought to have packed his wound or rolled in mud — instead, he had left a blaring neon sign for Olive’s attacker to follow. She is pregnant! Very gently, “Are you wounded, too, Olive?” Lotte questioned, her attention turning toward the bay. The sheepdog, she knew, had been trained in botany by Doe and possessed her own store of herbs, which would make identifying what Isley had saved much easier.

“I have a friend who can see to your hurts,” she said, exchanging a glance with Arturo to seek his approval before making any rash decisions. Olive is pregnant! “I will go and fetch her — it may take some time. Will you meet me at the riverside? The weather is warm enough that we can safely use cold water to help clean your wounds and slow the bleeding.” The bleeding that has left a trail. The bleeding that could lead wolves to Teaghlaigh. The soot-stockinged soturi began making her plans, her mind whirring wildly; the call of her hormones clouded her judgment fairly often these days, but the very real threat of retaliation upon a pack with few numbers and three wounded wolves sobered her considerably. Without another word, she gathered herself and trotted purposefully in the direction of Blackrock Depths.