I don't know what's going on, but I don't like it

"I thought she went back to you and Ganta. Her scent went that way this morning." The second the almost yearling heard that he knew he had to go back for her. He ran as fast as his long, gangly legs and oversized paws would carry him. By the time he made it back to what used to be Dragoste’s lands he was winded, but he didn’t give himself time to catch his breath. He immediately found Philly’s scent which worried him and relieved him all at once. He darted into the lands, trying to keep an eye out as he ran for anyone that might try to stop him. He spotted the group easy enough, but he had a hard time distinguishing who was friend or foe. He didn’t see any of thier old pack mates here, just strangers. And Philomena. He rushed to her side, hearing the tail end of her questioning. Ulric was panting hard as he pressed his side to hers, his silver gaze darting between the older wolves around them. ”We need to get out of here,” he told her, his voice breathy at best. ”The pack isn’t ours any more.” He didn’t want to tell her about their father yet. Not like this. Not till he was sure they were safe. He realized that two of the wokvea had a similar scent to the man he had just met and made the connection that these were some of their relatives. Whether that was a good thing or not he didn’t know. For now they were the only ones here he thought he might be able to trust so he looked to them for help.