planning a crash landing

It was a strange system, foreign to the Warlord. He trained his children, raised them up, and let them work towards ranks in the Armada. The ones that left did so because they found a life outside of the Armada, not because he wished for them to go. He watched her as she walked towards the panther, inspecting the corpse with a critical eye.

“No.” he said, shaking his head. “As far as I’m aware, it acted resilient to medicine. It appeared almost simultaneously across the continent, and contaminant creatures without discirmination. Then it simply… lifted.” he shook his head. Give him a creature he could fight any day. Not a disease, something he could do so little about. “It killed one of my wolves, mentally and physically scarred others.” it had not been kind to them, that was apparent. One death, and two other wolves had fled his pack in the chaos.

“It’s no trouble, we could use more healers. You say you trained as one in your pack? That would be a benefit to me. In return, I will grant you my protection, and teach you to defend yourself.” The last was not a request, all in his pack must learn self defense. He had long since learnt the best was to defend what was his was to ensure they could fight for themselves.

"Sirius Fatalis"