Whitewater Gorge Floating

So Colin was a peacekeeper—a “reverend,” who fought only in self-defense. Finley had mixed impressions of such mindsets. Her own time with Helios had been an isolated period, and she’d been taught not to instigate fights without due cause—but “self-defense” suggested the other party was the aggressor, which struck her as a needless concession. Finley wondered about the leaders who’d ganged up on Donovan, several packs against one that’d barely formed; would they have claimed “self-defense” as well?

For now she’d withhold judgment on Colin, individually. A peacekeeper could be an asset in a pack with a wolf prone to bloodshed; with this thought Finley stole a glance at Nemisis, still ahead. She expected the conversation to continue but Derg remained silent; as Finley reeled her attention back in she realized he and Colin seemed to be expecting more from her.

As good a cue as any, then. “Minor clarification,” Finley said, clearing her throat, “on my ‘teacher’: I had none. Youth in my family are taught to fight for their place in the pack. It’s inevitable some will be stronger than others.” She gave her head a quick shake, as if deterring a fly. Colin’s interlude had given her a moment away from her internal grumbling, and she tried to keep her voice level and flat as usual. Her words could speak for themselves, no tonal condescension necessary. “No wolf from their ranks would be beyond help.”

Well, not those who lived to see a new life after Helios, at least. But if anyone had died along the way, that was their own failing. They’d only have been a hindrance to the rest if they’d stayed.