Don't Shoot the Messenger

Acere paced the borders, waiting in anticipation for Drifa's arrival. He had just finished piecing some things together using some pelts he had collected, and they lay scattered on the ground beneath the trees. He had grown restless, however, and had taken to pacing the border. His foxes had gone scouting the surrounding lands, making sure none of the Hjarrandi wolves nor other potentially hostile creatures lurked nearby. He was eager to learn what Abavens answer to his proposal was, and the usually patient king found himself becoming impatient. These were serious matters, after all, and he had given Abaven a chance before they simply showed up at their borders armed to the teeth. He considered his pack and theirs allies, but things might change depending on how the young alphess took it. He had thought about going himself and explaining things, but he didn't dare leave the pack lands at this point in time. For all he knew, Hjarrandi could raid his pack while it was left undefended, but he decided that if she chose to do that, their deal would be nullified and voided.

He wouldn't be the one seen as the fool here, after all. He would keep his end of the bargain. Honorable though he was, he had no qualms with deceiving a rogue band if it meant keeping his allies. And if it didn't work? Well, he supposed he'd deal with it if it came down to that.