Noctisardor Bypass raserei

When Mahler said that he would come with her to the valley, Laurel's first urge was to say 'no!'. She wasn't sure why. Perhaps because she knew she wouldn't succeed in getting her children back. Honestly, she was not sure what to expect; either death, in hopes of being able to tell them that she loved them, at least, or captivity, because being at Merrick's whims but alive and able to see her children was better than nothing. Mahler had shut down Sequoia's suggestion. Laurel was somewhat relieved, because she was afraid to lose Sequoia, and afraid to be without her friend here in Rivenwood.

Wylla then finally showed her true, ugly face. Laurel did not realise how much it was like her own as her hackles rose and her tail poofed and rose. Laurel got to her feet, her body language dominant and defensive. She spoke of Mahler as if he was her property. Besides that, she invalidated the worth of the pack, of Rivenwood, by saying it was her own mess, not the pack's. Mahler is my friend, Laurel snapped at Wylla, her eyes blazing with fury, Whether you like it or not. That's his decision, not yours. She spoke of the decision to be Laurel's friend, but in truth, also a little bit about the decision to go with, if he wanted (even though Laurel didn't really see what it would bring them, and didn't want him to; but she'd tell him that, not Wylla). Laurel bit back insults — about how Wylla didn't even pay attention enough to her mate to know that fact, about how not everybody was as bitter and sour as Wylla — but she knew all too well that she needed to get the sympathy of the pack of her side and this wasn't how she was going to do it.

So instead she moved on to what she thought the whole while Wylla spoke. Laurel's voice started out calm but shaking, and ended going louder and louder. We're a pack. We're supposed to stick up for each other. If we don't support each other, if we don't give a flying fuck about what happens to our own and give up our own wolves that easily, if it's completely meaningless, why are we even a pack?! Laurel's voice rose as she reached the end of what she spat at Wylla, her teeth showing, threateningly so. None of this was a surprise to Laurel. She expected her pack to stab her in the back, because packs were unreliable and didn't care. Only family did, she knew that much, and she had none left right now, right here. Her only hope was that Mahler and Sequoia were enough of her friends to understand what she was saying. But she had to try. She said, It could be Druid next, or even you, Wylla! You would stand for that? You'd let every one of us get taken away, picked apart one by one by deranged wolves coming to our lands, because 'they probably had it coming'? A deep, shaky breath, and a bit calmer again, next, as she levelly looked at Wylla. I'd help Mahler rescue you. Because I'm his friend. And because you're my packmate.

As far as Laurel was concerned, Rivenwood either stuck together today... Or there was no more Rivenwood. Iliksis hissed in her head that they would betray her, like they always did, that they'd grab the hilt of the dagger that Wylla had plunged into Laurel's chest and that they would twist it, but Laurel had to believe there was some chance they'd stick together.

Rivenwood was going to be her second chance — her last chance — the place that would heal the past — and she was not ready to give up on it yet. She glanced at Sequoia and Mahler, her eyes fiery but silently demanding their support. As a pack. With or without Wylla.