a trip down memory lane

The Ashen Armada. Perhaps Ashen, the pack of the dead heretic Archon, had decided its name needed an upgrade to help set it apart? Surely Archon's influence hadn't been so great that a mortal pack had adopted elements of the Abraxas pack structure. Now the gears were really turning in Pyrrhic's mind. If that's what they had done and if his influence had been so great, how else had the pack been impacted by that bastard's presence? It was a troubling thought to say the least.

None of his misgivings showed on his face, however. He kept them to himself and rolled the possible problem around as he ate. The meat was good. Odd in a plant-y, vaguely green tasting kind of way thanks to whatever she'd added to it, but good still. She'd succeeded in hitting that sweet spot between too dry and underdone and he wondered how long she'd been at it.

At last he offered, "You did a good job on this. My father smoked meats and while I can't claim to be a connoisseur I do know how much work goes into getting it right." He swallowed the last of his portion and then added, "It's good stuff."