Ankyra Sound once there was a bee named spider

Her eyes darted between them, assessing the damage as Ingram huffed and puffed and choochoo'd his way toward an explanation. Most of Lycaon's damage seemed to be his face, with pink-stained fur all around his mouth. Ingram's injury was more serious, and she felt the smolder of hatred and injustice swelling in her gut. They had done nothing to the tribe of barbarians upon the cliff to deserve this treatment; why, then, had they attacked her pack mates? She pressed closer to her dark brother, reaching to lick at his injured leg if she would let him.

It had to be something Arrille did to rile them up. Wylla couldn't find him blameless in this, it was too unprecedented, and she combed her brother's faces critically. "What did he do? Insult them? Piss on their borders? He had to do something, and he just left you there to get beat up for him?" She just couldn't believe that wolves would go around picking fights with everyone around like testosterone fueled idiots. Arrille had to be at fault somehow. Then again, she knew nothing about the wolves that lived up there. They had been of zero consequence to her until now, but even then, her rage was aimed toward the wolves that had not defended her brothers while calling them pack.

"He did what?" Wylla repeated, eyes snapping to Lycaon when Kierkegaard was mentioned again. She paid little mind to Caiaphas' mercenary friend—he was too old to really run in her circle, and his connection with the witch made him unfavourable to her. However, she couldn't help but to seethe now. "Why? Is he in league with them somehow?" Suddenly the idea that they had traitors and spies in their midst seeking to end them wormed its way into her mind and she snarled again, tail lashing. Why else would Kierkegaard try to get their opponents to call for back-up? It made no sense.