Moonspear Road kill has its seasons

His head swam briefly when he caught up with the chaos, the mess of familiar and unfamiliar faces in a tangle with another. There was distant yelling, the sound of others coming to join them; a pair of eyes alighted on him briefly before he turned his head to meet the first form to join them before it he swung back around at the crackling of bone. The cry was piercing and enough to push him back a step as vitriol laced words cascaded in. This was a situation already under control from the moment he was there, as Hydra and her sister—sisters, he noted—held fast to the wolf they had pulled from the growth.

Another dark form had joined the fray with Rannoch not far behind and more revelations came to light. It hadn't been a wolf that commited the crime came the protest and admittedly Dirge had nothing more to supply to that. He hadn't dared to get close to the body of the young she-wolf, he hadn't sensed blood or some other nefarious odor lingering. But here he could, the smell of fear and blood overpowering most everything. Yet why was the stranger there in their midst? His whimpering had been cut short of words that Dirge had barely heard and it was that moment he came forward with interest.

"What was he trying to say," he inquried, at first the words flat and hushed; thoughtful if nothing else. He spoke again, this time with confidence backing his tones. "The lad was about to offer us something." His gilded gaze settled on the sock-marked stranger and Dirge wondered in the mess of things if he would try again to get a word in edgewise.