Northstar Vale Alérotos

The boy grew uncomfortable at the scent of his mother’s sickness. She assured him that she was fine, that she would be alright. The young wolf eyed her intensely, unmoving.

Did you eat something bad? Antigone asked, voice sharper than he had intended. He thought of what might help with this ailment. Mint, maybe. Did they have mint? His features became sour with thought. His eyes were fixed on Tamar’s features.

She mentioned his coat.

Antigone blinked once.

I was dirty. Spoken plainly.