Moonspear les miens

Noctaryn had taken sentry to the right of Viskani, his shoulder just brushing hers, a show of silent support. He waited alongside them, an unease settling in the silence following her call, his eyes flickering between this pack’s border and Chaudry.

Nothing about this seemed right.

One by one, others heeded his Matriarche’s  call, each with heated stares towards Chaudry and some curious, but no less edge.

What hat truly happened here?

Then, one in particular, a male visibly vibrating with anger, spoke first, his words accusatory, and it took all Noctaryn had to not to turn on Chaudry, teeth flashing. Were his suspicions about him true?

He whispered to Viskani, too low for the others. Too low for Chaudry. 

He speaks of abuse. In your heart, do those words ring true? Consider them before this goes too far, Viskani. There was anger laced in his words—not towards her, never that, but for what the man’s words might have possibly brought to light.