This ride is about to get bumpy

The meager remains of the pack's supplies were laid out along the communal spaces of the Armada. The fire was still roaring heartily in the pit, and he was waiting to hear any further reports that the torrential rain and flooding in the night just passed had affected any other dens or damaged other important resources of the Armada. The Warlord was not a happy wolf, knowing just how badly the pack's food supplies had been damaged, and with winter just over the horizon, too.

It was time to bring in the rest of the pack, and begin the painstaking job of rebuilding their supplies. Through hunting, trade, or perhaps even raiding. He raised his head and called for the pack.


"Sirius Fatalis"