Lefty's thoughts turned, quietly, to the woman she had encountered in the woods. She'd not expected her betrothed to return-- but Thorax seemed to be accepting life in Boreas rather well, and all things considered, Lefty was pleased to see that. While their union had never been one of... equal grounds, not really, not with Lefty's status, it still would have frustrated the blue-furred wolf to see their once-promised treated badly.
But since she wasn't, Lefty went back to her business. Armada. Perhaps other wolves would have taken the whole deal much worse, but Lefty found it calming, really. They liked Wylan, and they liked Bas, and the pack was full of enterprising faces. Today, Lefty passed through the Col, looking for a potential material for a sword hilt. It was about time she begin to make her own.
But a voice caught her attention, and Lefty's ears pricked forward. "Ah! Warlord. I'm doing quite well; I'm searching for a fine material for a sword's hilt. I believe it's about time I begin to smith my own weapon." Their head inclined. "The party for the yearlings was quite pleasant. I had an excellent time." Then -- "And yourself?" Polite, as always.
"Speech"
