Ravensblood Forest the tree who cried crimson

minor assumption that Derg’s not being too subtle, since he almost laughs

Something shifted in Derg; did he find her horror amusing? Pitiable? Finley flattened her ears, tail ducked, glancing aside; she’d been too obvious. And she counted herself lucky that Derg seemed to have no intention of taking advantage of it.

Instead he corrected her (an addition to the shame nonetheless), and described his attacker as “a blonde woman.” A vague description, but duly noted. The way he spoke betrayed no urgency, but still Finley decided she’d have to press for details once his story was done. This was not a wolf she wanted to encounter.

But first Derg continued his story, now tracing further back to the Alpha of his birth pack. Finley shook her head, embarrassment shoved away by disgust. “That makes no sense,” she said plainly. “Failure to guard is one thing. But mauling your own? Just for that?” Heinous.