Put Out the Cat

As the other woman expressed her sadness at the death of the young wolf and questioned whether or not it belonged to her pack, Resin shot a one eyed glance at the dead cat. "Thankfully no. I came across the tiger carrying the wolf as I was performing patrols of the Armada's perimeter." She was always busy. Everything was business. There was very little pleasure in the large wolf's life. There would be time for pleasure when she was dead, she supposed. Being in control of things was just something that kept her on her toes.

Lúta inspected the wounds. The ones on her neck burned the worst, but long grazes usually did. As indicated by her vast array of scars, Resin was no stranger to wounds. The punctures could get infected as there was no end to the grime beneath a creatures claws.

The blue woman went off to collect whatever she could in the area and Resin waited for her return. She could go home and have Iolaire tend to her wounds, but the less she could make her daughter worry, the better.