Finally, some good luck

There was so much to do, that the Warlord was constantly on the move. He slept less and less. Both because when his head did touch the pelts, he was plagued by nightmares, and because he was in a frenzy to get things done before Winter fully settled in. Already the days had taken a bad turn, and the water that logged the Armada was turning to ice and snow.

The red forest was far enough away that the noise of the Flash flood hadn’t disturbed the crittes there. At least, not as badly. As he roamed the woods for prey, he found something completely unexpected. The scent of a Giraffe caught his attention. Had it wandered into the North by mistake? Or had it fled something to wind up here? Regardless, it was exactly what he needed to feed the pack.

"Speech"