Hoshor Plains Confined in mountain halls,

permission given to skip; Collion still free to jump in whenever :>

At the sight of the stranger Finley tensed even more, but her cry of the other’s name—“Ira”—quelled her tension. Ah, good, someone familiar. Finley stood back and let the other approach, only vaguely registering the question in the rush of the moment. Had Finley been struck? No. Did her blood roar in her ears as she watched, not half as knowledgeable, and the newcomer hastily established herself as a newcomer? She was a warm body, forcing her bristling hair down, internally electrified. Who knew a non-combat situation could offer such a rush.

It took her a moment, grasping at words and anything coherent, after the medic finished speaking. But right, right, couldn’t leave them there—could the two of them drag the fallen duo all the way back? Swallowing, Finley bowed her head in a respectful nod. “Turned my back. They—” What had happened? Why was her voice unsteady? Somewhere in the distance, another flash, thunder on its heels; Finley tilted her snout towards it, as if that explained anything.

Then she gestured towards Orlaith, mouth slightly open as if to take her by the scruff; focus zigzagged, medic, Orlaith, back again. Should I? asked silently, words caught in Finley’s throat. It’d be a long drag—did they have a choice? The medic had no good reason to trust her, least of all with the pack’s leader—or vice versa. Yet the singed bodies left no time for deliberation.