Dragoncrest Cliffs anger is the more productive cousin of fear

Furi has frozen in place as she realizes what happened. It’s a wolf dead at Artaax’s feet and her green eyes lock on the form. The metallic scent of blood clogs her nose in addition to everything unpleasant about it. It’s the second dead body she’s seen in her life—in Drageda. She blinks slowly, staring at the corpse until Blixen’s voice rattles her brain and she shakes, turning to look at the pair. It takes several seconds for the command to register and she staggers a few steps away, though she doesn’t know why. “Heda?” she asks, recollecting the connection from the other day but it makes the most sense and she doesn’t waste time waiting for an answer. She doesn’t expect one either.

Everything zeroes in quickly and she steels herself, lifting her nose to call. She sucks in a breath and lets her voice loose for the Heda and @Portia. Worried they do not know the sound of her voice, she addresses the urgency with a second howl before she spins back around and stands to the side, waiting for a second instruction.