Nova Peak what’s yours is mine.

an observer lingered on the fringes. qiao caught his scent, but did not see him. her attention remained riveted on the ailing shape in the dugout. 

he rose and she stepped back. his gold eyes were clouded by madness. he gibbered as he staggered out into the sunlight, and it was then that the full breadth of his sickness was fully measurable. 

a crusted garland of blood encircled his throat. his hind end had little control. spittle clung to his lips. 

this one is sick too. qiao whispered to her entourage before she turned back to the man, body language intended to be appeasing. you are not well — easy, stranger. qiao took another step back, her gaze hastily turning to a new face in the midst. 

shit! she had not accounted for a remaining packmate. this one observed too, but the low growl that hung her lips spoke of her affinity here. he’s sick, qiao explained to redd, her accented tone as disarming as possible. do not let him touch you. we buried his mate last night. he and his mate both have — it was then riley lunged and qiao skittered back, giving the madman a wide berth. easy! we are only here to help you.