Whitefish River I Used to Think That I Was Made out of Stone

Well away and out of their fur was the best news he had heard in what felt like a long, long, time now. He needed that. The last thing he needed was for them to keep skulking around - so maybe that black troublemaker from the hunting grounds wasn't one of them? Perhaps her attitude being similar to Nemisis was all coincidental after all if they had moved that far away.

What came next shattered him again, perhaps harder than the news of the Empire falling. Watching Ira crumble as she did at the news of her friend's death was hard to watch. He wanted to go to her, to hold her close and tell her it would all be alright. He wanted nothing but to support her at this moment, as a friend. His paws nudged along the ground, barely moving but a jitter as he stopped to remain standing where he was. 

She didn't like being touched. He had to remind himself. 

I don't know... The words felt heavy in his mouth. He wanted to have everything she needed, all the answers right here and now - and yet, all he had was that one giant bombshell to deliver with no shelter to offer. There was no news on the puppies, I assume they are alive - where I don't know... I hope to go searching whenever possible. Soon would be preferable, but there was so much to attend to. 

It was just another reason why he was short with Orlaith. His patience could only be spread so thin with so much bad news put onto his plate, to deliver to the Count himself. The last thing he needed was her making things that much harder.