Redsand Canyon as the building continues to burn

renard’s surprise lay squarely with their position. of course donovan would drive the saints into conflict with anyone fool enough to cross them. there was nothing to be had in a pack clinging to outdated ideals of peace; inevitably someone would show up who was not so willing to play nice. they were doing the rest of the packs, scrambling in fear of their approach, a service, no matter if they could not see the fact giftwrapped in front of their nose.

what was a surprise was the sheer number he had whipped into this fury before even establishing his pack – placed under the banner of their newest aspiring tyrant – they did not have the upper hand yet, and he continued along with his frustrating lack of concern like they did. as though when things got too annoying he could step into the willows and snap all of their necks with one twist of his jaws, as one might extinguish the life of an irritating scavenger. not a single order had come down along the lines of find out what these people are doing, and here they sat in the bottom of their canyon, twiddling their thumbs and getting familiar with the cacti while the storm boiled on the horizon.

renard itched to do something. whether that was about the willows or about their overseer, and under donovan’s command there was nothing that could be done. watch the mountains. wait for the shoe to drop. build their strength and how long would they go unnoticed here? they were an old hand at sitting still when the situation called for it; this situation called for anything but.

the words lingered, bowing under the weight of the entire multi-paragraph conversation they were carrying (and that is personally causing smoke to come out of my ears trying to understand). renard bent their head unhurriedly to drink, suspecting finley had picked up just as much of what was left unsaid as they had, but patience was a virtue and they were in no hurry to speed things along. talking in careful half-truth and half-metaphor was a hobby.

“there’s a lot we’re betting on.” nemisis to keep herself in check, donovan to keep himself in check, the romantic rivalries not to fracture them apart before they’d even begun, the masses to generously wait until they’d gotten their feet back under themselves. muzzle still brushing the water, the thread of feigned unconcern remained.