Blacktail Deer Plateau With the evening sun

a thousand arguments burn to the tip of ingram's tongue: that it wasn't fair to run with that assumption, that it wasn't her fault basilica had fallen; but he bites each of them back.

because he knows she is right.

her children were supposed to be the future of basilica and now ...they were the future of whatever pack took her beneath their wing.

a not-so twist of fate. it wasn't as if ingram hadn't concluded this was coming even before the murky affirmation from his threadbones.

maybe, ingram rumbles; contemplative. the deathlord, osiris. for that was where the violent tug of his obsession was leading him and he, ever prone to following it, was a puppet upon strings.