Foul Temper

The weakness only made him madder, stirring the emotions inside of him, with a pinch of tension and a whole dash of fear for Zee. It was just about enough to make an explosion, and the tyrant was a ticking time bomb. Maybe it made him a little nastier then usual, but the idea of her running off to ask for aid from other packs did not sit well in the Tyrant. "No. Diplomacy is something well have to work on, I get that. But you will NOT be going to another pack in my name and asking for aid, am I understood?" He sat, not because of her command so much as because he realised his paws wouldnt hold him for long.

He had an inkling he had pulled his stitches, and could feel the stickiness in his cast from the wound where the bone had originally broken the skin. Setting it had been a bastard of a time he would rather not relive. He took an angry, shaky breath and glared down at the smaller wolf. "If there is an issue, it comes to me. Having problem with supplies? Fine, then bast marshal and zee can work together and build up our stocks. They each have their own strengths and can work well together. Need healing supplies? Take out Deathbelles other healer, Riva, and a warrior and gather them. Go to Auster, the lands are richer there." He said, his tone a constant rumble. "Our first answer isnt to go squealing to other packs crying out our weakness. So long as your a member of Ashen Armada, you will not share mine or my packs weakness to other packs, am I understood?" It was hard to look stern when you were as white as a sheet, but he managed it. This was a stubbornness none had managed to shake him of. He did not tell his weakness to others. He had no doubt wolves like the Winterfell bastards would come after them if they knew they where weak. No doubt so would the Risen Empire who had a bone to pick with them. Hadn't their alpha died when Archon had?