What's the hurry?

Charlie had been keeping himself busy in the wake of the flood. The Armada had wolves who were injured and sick, and all their supplies had been washed away. His mind raced, the need to get resources, and those who might be willing to help bring them there. He had found a waterlogged bag on his way out of the Armada, and he carried it now as he moved south. He feared for his sister. They needed herbs, more than would be in the Armada right now. By now the frost would have killed any of them off. But he wasn’t a healer. He would not only need someone with healing know-how, but he’d need to find somewhere the frost hadn’t killed all those herbs off.

That was what brought him south now. His brow was furrowed, his shrike struggling to keep up with the hurried pace of her companion. Either he needed to find herbs, or approach a pack about some he could take back with them. He didn’t know what the best option was right now. His gut twisted as he moved, keeping his pace despite worn down his own energy. He had to do something. Andy was suffering. The Armada was suffering. His ears lay flat against his skull. There had to be an answer somewhere…

"Speech," 'Thought.'