Bearclaw Valley They don’t get the context ‘cause it’s too complex

Evien had been planning on heading to the Saints' borders himself, but they beat him to it. Both of their leaders had shown up on the border, and Astara had already met them there. The healer approached afterward - his own eye had healed, but was a clouded, pale shade of green rather than its usual forest. He could not see out of it anything but colors and shapes, and he wasn't hoping for a recovery from it.

"We were going to come and speak with your pack, but I had a child's injuries to care for, and she and Merrick had a wounded son. Broken ribs. I'm sure you can see why we would be a bit preoccupied," he spoke, his voice level and posture neutral, though there was a bit of bite in there. He hadn't been this angry in a long while, and he was sure it showed. How anyone could hurt such a small creature was beyond him.

Evien scanned the two Saints wolves over, ears angling forward. He felt dwarfed by the striped one in particular - Donovan, he presumed. That was what he was called at the gathering. "I'm also sure that you know that both of our packs need one another." This was a delicate situation - they would all be walking on a proverbial minefield here. He needed to at least be halfway cordial. "Are you aware of what happened on the border that day?"

He didn't get as close to them as Astara had, but he was close enough. Evien was not intimidating enough to do that. He was simply the conversation starter where his co-lead was far less vocal.