Firefly Glen a minty fresh death breath

“Oh,” Lane’s emitted her soft response to the news. Her skin felt numb, and everything around her seemed to freeze in place for a long moment. It was not her first exposure to death—not by a long shot—but it was easily the most unexpected one in recent memory. The news jolted her. But, at the end of the day, it didn’t change much about Lane’s present situation. She still needed a place to touch down, at least until this weather cleared, and it sounded like the Glen was in need of what she offered as well.

“I’m sorry for your losses, here and on the mountain.” Lane had been looking forward to having Toad here as a friendly face, but Antares’s grief would obviously be much more profound. If he had family in both locations, then it also stood to reason that he would deeply feel the losses suffered by both packs, and not just those of the Glen. 

Lane nodded. Yes, she had met Holland. She was unlikely to forget him, as long as her paw still smarted with every step. 

"He helped me remove a nasty splinter," Lane confirmed, lifting her paw to show Antares the puncture wound. An uneven pink scar protruded from the swollen pad, and the wound still leaked a bit-- long days of travel weren't conducive to Lane's healing. "I, uh, wasn't the nicest patient," Lane admitted after a beat, ears flattening sheepishly. She felt the need to explain, in case Antares mentioned her name to Holland and his reaction was less than ideal.