Ravensblood Forest Somewhere New

Of the Saints’ four members, three arrived, even after Donovan’s generous wait time. Was she sleeping? in the middle of the afternoon? Odd. But Finley made little of it.

And then fell the announcement. Weary. Donovan sounded weary, and Derg only looked slightly surprised; had he known? Did Nemisis? So this was only news to Finley, and it compelled her to keep a straight face—despite the slightest drop of disappointment. What kind of wolves threatened a not-even-pack composed half of its leadership? Either they were irrational as Nemisis’ birthplace or Donovan minced his words.

Regardless, Donovan’s choice was clear, and his say was final. An obvious decision. “Flee” was not the strongest word choice, but anything else would have been a blatant lie. With his final declaration, Derg dove into his apparently-not-an-offering, and Finley dipped her head. Unless called back, she would leave without having said a word.

The ramifications of Donovan’s words, here and beyond, would settle in later. (Much, much later.) For now, Finley would return for one last fish.