Hushed Willows Or die, little wolf, die

The answer came to him in an instant.

Grabbing the cold, dead piebald by his scruff Chaudry began to drag him from the scene. His own scent still lingered on the fur of the man, and something about that made him too nervous to leave it be. He needed to take Phobos far away, leave him somewhere that the body would be cleansed of Chaudry's own shame, somewhere that Chaudry could cleanse himself of the herbalist's touch for a final time.

His breath shaky for a brief moment, the Matriarch's son stood still as stone before continuing on his way.