Among the greats

The Archer-Lyall knew it was wrong to withdraw from her pack as she had, but there had been a bite in the air long before the first snows fell and her stores were insufficient. She had poured every bit of energy she had into gathering and storing, crafting and concocting. It still wasn't enough. She was almost sure the antiseptic scent of pine and cedar had worked its way into her bones, even Otis didn't escape that fate. When the leaders howl came, grey eyes narrowed. Her companion snatched up his satchel, stuffed with healing items. A little salve, a needle and horsehair, the basics that could be used to get someone to somewhere more stable. But something in that tone told her it wouldn't be needed.

It was the scent that hit her first. Causing her steps to falter. Charred meat and burnt hair. Her stomach flipped. There was nothing she could do to fix this. Tamsyn's presence wouldn't have been a surprise if she had been more... present... but who was on the litter? She held back from the gathered wolves, lingering close enough to hear, but also far enough away to retreat if this turned into a shit-show. Whatever was to be said was clearly important, but the Archer-Lyall didn't trust others when emotions might run high. Clearly there had been a loss. But who was it?

"speech".