Stone Circle Rage and Grief beset

With @Germanicus in step behind her, Faun marched through the pack lands, a woman on a mission, her steps sure and her eyes focused.

The male who greeted them was older, standing vigil. At his feet, a dark scrap of fur. In the dark, Faun could see he was young, far too young, skinny with travel and little eating, twitching occasionally but sleeping as deep as he could. She could smell the sickness of beginning infection, and she decided in that moment that hell or high water, she didn’t care.

This boy would live. He would see sunrise, then a thousand more. She dipped her head gratefully to the man who spoke, then set her skin aside.

Her voice hissed out between her teeth as she examined what wounds she could see without moving the boy or crowding him.

The older wounds aren’t canine. Feline, if I had to guess, or avian. The new ones…canid. Her eyes could pick the raw edges of ripped flesh on an already scarred shoulder, but she knew that couldn’t be it. Not with how the messenger had spoken.