Herbalists' Cache sleeping mist

and i oop—

he talked to her as if she was a child. as if she knew nothing of being a chief. he had founded his leadership on a murder. the wolves he spoke of? they did not follow him out of admiration or strength. 

they followed him out of fear. that was no true chieftain. not in her eyes.

"do not speak with me as if i am child." she warned. her patience wears dangerously thin, her ire hardly contained. her tail raises too; a challenge. she would not bow to him, not over something that she knew was right. "to be proactive is to be wise. he was stealing food to provide for your cubs, cousin. does that mean nothing to you?"

was it not better as a leader to assume every stranger that comes to your home—permanent or not—was a threat? especially if there were children to be born here soon? 

she does not understand him. and she does not care to. when the two men square up with one another, she stands on the side lines, her shoulders tense. if her cousin could not see reason, she would not defend him. 

and if a fight were to erupt, she'd made her decision on which side she would choose.