Blackfeather Woods the world is not enough

She had hoped, at first, that he was smiling at her belly. Perhaps he was glad that she had found some mate, or something of the likes. But his eyes soon fell upon her belly and his expression changed. It was unreadable, and she thought the worst. But formalities came — he stepped forward and nuzzled her; she muzzled back, mirroring his movements.

She let him speak, and as he did shock slowly slid over her face. Then realization. Then anger. She made no attempts at hiding the shift from Charon, for the emotions were too strong to hide. She recalled when her son came to her, bleeding profusely from his face. The scar remained, but she had not asked where he had received it. Now she suspected his folly here, his sheer inanity and carelessness. No one died? She figures so; he wouldn't be talking to her so politely had someone died. He wouldn't be alone had someone been killed. What did they look like? It would only confirm her suspicions. None of the others in Blackfeather would brazenly attack someone like that, not without a contract. But her children? Wildcards, yes, but she taught them better. They were taught better than to attack without the ability to kill, to make it quick. If she had to guess, he was perhaps gloating in the moment, rather than doing it quickly. And the proximity to a pack was what truly ruined him.