Swiftcurrent Creek rain for the water gods

Arric was as instant as he, the two practically sliding in unison toward their packmate and each with their own questions. His eyes were sharp upon them both—even more so at the words of Lestan that Reverie had been hurt by Tybault—the name only familiar to the Mayfair as a guy who had stirred up some trouble on their borders looking for the girl in question.

There was a pause—his eyes tracing the flecks of blood on Lestan, moving forward to crowd and worry at the male slightly, only relaxing when it was apparent that the majority of the blood was not his own. And then a cloying sense of pride—he didn’t think the soft-spoken man had it in him—but now was not the time to tease.

“Do you need anything? Want Arric or I to trail after him, make sure he’s gone for good…?”