Cashing in my bad luck

The Warlord began his rounds before the sun, enjoying the last traces of cool night before the sun began to warm the day. It was Marshal who caught sight of his wolf first, and the cry of his companion led him in the right direction. The scent of blood directd him after that. He arrived, flinty eyed and towering as he stopped in front of her, ceasing her in her tracks.

He leaned forward, sniffing her coat carefully, eyes demanding obedience, least she thought to protest. He caught the scent of one of Deathbelle’s younger litter on her coat. Strange. Was this a retaliation from Deathbelle? Had Venom decided to stir trouble? Or had the wolf been acting on his own. “Report.” He growled, nodding his head to Marshal to seek a healer.