Cassiopeia's View The hand of Gods

He listens to her words with an intensity, his devilishly pointed ears cupped into her direction. It was as though each word, each expression she gave, he held onto it, paid close attention to it as though her presence commanded his attention despite the obvious chaos which loomed below. Hemlocke was always a very observant wolf, a good listener and he was curious of her initial reactions to all of this.


She wanted to help, willed herself to go down there into the fray and do all that she could. But her legs did not move and her placement remained here atop the view near him, her chin falling with her words. A good woman, but not a foolish one. She needed time to think, needed time to collect herself.


Then, she ran off. Not down the slope in the exact direction of Moonspear, but perhaps towards home. She could collect herself there, Hemlocke thinks, bring reinforcements to help dig out the wounded, find what herbs they could to mend them. The hellhund did not follow. As far as he knew, the Saint wolves did not have any allies and those who were not enemies likely were only wolves who had not yet joined the forces against them. Hemlocke would not say it aloud, but the destruction which befell Moonspear would only turn out to be good news for the Saints.


Instead, Hemlocke turns and takes down the path that would lead him back into the valley of their home. @Kynareth and @Nyra would definitely need to be informed by him and Hemlocke could only expect that Dove would be happy at the prospect of more skulls of the fallen to be added to her collection.