Stone Circle A massacre on our doorstep

The female had been close when the white wolf cried out. It was only a matter of seconds for Ira to turn midstep and rush in the direction of the scream and howl. She recognized it as Arlette and there was absolutely no reason for the happy girl to cry out like that. Something was definitely wrong.

The mountain-wolf rushed when the scent of blood hit her, it was faint, old, but there was a lot. A spray of snow arched to the side as Ira skidded to a halt, her eyes quickly scanning over the girl for injuries but quickly noted that she appeared fine. Yes, she was fine, relief should have spread through her body, but her eyes drifted to the mass collapsed behind the white girl. It was a wolf.

Her tongue rolled out of her mouth as she panted, taking a moment to catch her breath before approaching. Arlette-- Her golden gaze traveled the man's body. She recognized him, although the state of his skull made it hard to identify him right away. He was an Easthollow wolf-- the one who lost his mate around the start of winter. If memory served her his name was Mawk, but she did not know much about him after that. Arlette you should avoid staring. Get your mother. Ira would do her best to block the girl's view with her body if she could not bring herself to move. Death was never a pretty sight, and this is the last thing the young wolf needed to see.