Dragoncrest Cliffs We can bow 'cause our music's warmer than blood

He went too far. As Vercingetorix drew himself to his full height and bore down on him, Ephraim turned back his ears and rounded his back, looking down and away from the higher ranked male. Being dominated did nothing to change his opinion, but now he kept his jaws clamped tight together all through Verx's lecture. Even after, Ephraim let the Cheka's words lapse into silence, refusing for a long time to respond. He didn't know what to say. He'd never seen such stubborn refusal to act in his life. Vercingetorix even justified Rusalka's actions, as if there hadn't been sound reason behind everything his own pack did. That prisoner? A natrona. That guy they killed? A trespasser.

Trigeda wouldn't stand for this, he wanted to protest. Instead all he said was, maybe that's good enough for you. He didn't need to say it out loud, but it was clear from his tone and his resentful expression that it wasn't good enough for him. They differed in that way. Ephraim didn't want to see anyone he cared about hurt, but the coywolf already understood that sometimes, sacrifices were necessary to ensure success. He would sooner take a risk than spend every day tense and wary, waiting for the next incursion. No doubt it was because the stress of waiting for the next strike was eating away at him in ways it didn't seem to be doing to Verx.

Can I go? he asked, intending to do exactly that whether the Cheka denied him or not.