Redsand Canyon And all I want is a little hope

things were messy. that was an understatement. but nemisis’ absence had benefits, as long as she did stay away. less to clean up when she inevitably went off the deep end, less people fighting amongst themselves. if there was something renard found frustrating, it was packmates too busy squabbling to pay attention to a real threat; all they regretted was that she had left, instead of being met with the consequence of her actions.

derg would have more sense. exactly how much more sense he had was up in the air, and they meant to find out before things declined even further. they wouldn’t underestimate an enemy with more people and more ties. donovan leaving on his own, to meet people who loathed them, was a bad idea. he could come back fine; he could come back half-dead.

he might not come back at all.

they followed his scent through the scrub and sand, winding a path down to the falls. silent, now, only a barely-audible crunch of paws against gravel. sticking to the shadows, still; it was the height of summer, and everything was still scorchingly hot, especially under the baking heat of the afternoon sun.

the sound of the falls reached them before anything else. it muffled their steps as they came to the edge of the lake, watching the saints’ new overseer as he sipped at the water. mist curled up and around them both like a cloak, pleasantly cool on renard’s face.

“overseer,” they said, putting an edge to their voice to rise above the roar of the falls, though it did not at all water down the dryness of the next words. “i hate to interrupt."