well that just dills my pickle [MEETING]

Torrent lifted her head at the sound of her brother's call, nearly dislodging Pidge from her shoulder as she slowed before changing directions, much to the raccoon's strident complaints. Torrent ignored her with chilly hauteur - Tyrian had called a pack meeting, and that was far more important than the raccoon healer's whinging or dropping off at her den the packet of dried herbs she'd traded for. Asriel broke away from her to head off to his own rest.

Coming up on the open barn doors, she could see Tyrian perched on a throne of alcohol, which didn't strike her as being particularly odd. She moved to seat herself next to Alarr. The antiseptic scent of a freshly bandaged wound mixed with the scent of blood on him, and she nosed at the wound with narrowed eyes, entirely unconcerned with any objections he might have, regardless of the fact that he was the master healer and she was barely trained. The positioning definitely implied that they were fight wounds, and not from a friendly spar. Did she need to rip someone's ears off for attacking her brother? She'd be accosting him after the meeting to find out.