It's gone. It's all gone.

It felt like the lists of what needed doing grew by the hour instead of shrinking. He worked hard, clearing tree limbs and debris from warrens so wolves could move in them and grab their belongings, and they could assess the damage. The stores were a mess, and the hot springs deep within one of the warrens that the pack used as a bathhouse was closed. The waters that ran through the caves and created the hot springs were too heavy, and the space was flooded.

The market was also closed, the Armada borders were locked down for the foreseeable future. He walked among the wreckage of what he - what the Armada - had built, and he couldn’t help feeling as if he had failed somewhere. With the events leading to Dread’s leaving, and now this? He sat down in front of the pack’s stores. His eyes on the meat the pack had painstakingly cured for winter. It was worse than he thought, there was almost nothing salvageable, and what was there was on the verge of spoiling. They would have to cook today what they could.


"Speech"