Get up, get out!

A flurry of movement and a litany of curses strung together under his breath, all the while he was mindlessly shoving things that caught his attention into his bags. Some of the tinctures and salves that he'd been given while he was healing, rolls of bandages. He tipped an ear backwards to listen as his brother explained the series of events that had brought him stomping into the den. Dad was off to Auster, Basilisk was celebrating his ascension to the throne, and Kite was pissed. In all honesty, that was all within the scope of what he'd expected for the day. Kite challenging for the Warlord's title? Not.. wholly out of character. She wanted to be strong, powerful. She wanted to prove herself an equal to anyone and everyone in the pack, almost to spite the ex-Warlord.

In any other context, hearing that a leg had been broken in the struggle for a pack wouldn't have raised a brow. That was an unfortunate reality of the violence that was so readily wrought between living creatures. Yet, to know that their cousin, who had been groomed to take over by their sire and imparted the wisdom of the Armada as a whole for so long, had been the one to break his sister's leg.. well, it got his hackles up. A low growl rumbled in his chest, though he didn't falter from his task. The boy should have known better. For a brief moment, he considered the reality of the situation- Kite would have fought until the death, if her pride depended on it. Would have kept coming at Bas, unrelenting. Perhaps...

No. He shook his head. There was no reason for that to escalate so quickly. When it came to how Charlie and Andy were taking the situation, that was too much to think about. He was fresh out of brain cells to devote to socio-politics within his own family. Did it hurt his feelings a bit? Definitely. Was he going to worry about that? Nope. Had to get packed, get out with Crux, and head after Kite to help get that leg set. The gilded giant looked to the picked-clean shelves of his den. The den he'd worked so hard to make his own, the only place he really knew. His den. That... he was about to leave behind. Would they return?

That was a concern to address later. He flipped the last strap into place on his packs, heaved them across his back. "Peabody?" he called, mercurial gaze flicking to and fro until it landed on the shuffling form of his pangolin companion, returning with the odds and ends that he'd been sent to retrieve. "C'mere bud, we're out of here." he announced, hobbling his way over to scoop his friend up and add him to the pile of stuff slung over his back. Peabody was slower than they were, even as a pair of three-legged wolves. Pebble was hardly a burden, worn easily like a little hat between his ears with hardly enough weight to register against his skin. He looked to his brother, expression grim and eyes a little watery. "I'm with you, Crux. Lead the way." he rumbled quietly, without an ounce of hesitation. "Kite first, or a place to camp?" he questioned as he stepped out of his den for the final time.

His den was on one of the lowest layers of tunnels, which was a blessing in this moment. They could make a break for the borders without raising too many alarms from the sentries, though it sounded like there was enough chaos within the ranks at the moment that the guards may have left their posts. They'd be fine. Even if they had to shove their way out of the Armada today.