Redsand Canyon Time Is A Tool

donovan delivered his information with a smile on his face, a shark scenting blood. it was a long way from the coast to the canyon, a lot of territory to abandon for such a length of time, but if yuèlóng truly had a problem nobody could count on that stopping them. their brief conversation on their arrival to the canyon had provided a little information, an overview, hushed willows included; not nearly enough.

“but they weren’t the only ones that went to the forest.” none of the pack scents at the edge had been were familiar, but there were more than two. what, exactly, made him think these could be the only threat? “if they came to chase you out once, what’s to say they won’t do it again? you think we can show our faces to this pack and live with them? in peace?” the scorn dripping from their tone made it clear what they thought of the idea.

they were not asking questions; they were delivering observations. an interrogation or a measurement? it didn’t matter. donovan commanded a force now. it was not that they considered themselves particularly attached to their packmates, but you could only afford to throw people away when you had people to spare. “how many do we have? how many do they?” a pause. then, a quiet, almost eager thing, “if they spit it back in your face, do we march?”

if he was dead set on this, renard wouldn’t stop him. it might even work. they were as eager as any of the saints to set their teeth into something, to finally do what they had come to do, but was he certain, after everything?