Redsand Canyon as the building continues to burn

Renard took his time filling the gap—rather understandable, seeing as the two had given each other author-baffling paragraphs worth of subtext to work with, and neither wolf was inclined to spell anything out. Finley still hadn’t gotten a read on Renard’s intentions but could only assume they too paralleled her own: if they were straightforward, they’d be asking “do you think the two in charge have lost their sun-foresaken minds, if they had much of any to begin with, and where the hell does that leave us?!”

Unfortunately for everyone involved, Finley would not be the initiator of such a conversation. To admit such flagrant judgments aloud, point blank, would put a bigger target on her neck than her mere presence around Donovan as a female. Sure, if she threw her cards down, and Renard ran with them straight to the leadership, it wasn’t as though he had proof. But could Finley defend herself in the face of confrontation? Not convincingly. And much as she questioned her tentative home, she’d rather die for it than be chased out with her tail between her legs. (Or so she assumed. Time would tell if that particular judgment call would warrant making.)

Subtext it was, then. Dancing around the question with the grace of a text wall, scrutinizing Renard’s true intentions with every word, and biding her time for anything resembling insight. “There’s a lot we’re betting on” was not that revelatory comment, but Finley could work with it. More passive language, begging to be questioned for clarification.

As far as Finley was concerned, their only bet was whether Donovan’s judgment was sound. Her faith in it lapsed by the day.

She sat back, in no rush to leave or conjure a reply of her own. Renard’s head was down. If she wanted a closer facial study she might have mimicked the movement, risked getting in his space—but his expression had scarcely been readable this whole time. Wasn’t worth the blatant invasion.

Eventually Finley settled on: “Are you familiar with the desert, Renard?” She might be reluctant to confess unfamiliar with the broader mountain area; the sands and their wildlife, however, were clearly fair game. And asking about familiarity was a far cry from admitting her dislike. But what kind of question would it be were it not double-edged? Could this biome’s vast expanses of dust sustain the pack? For how long? Long live the Saints.