The sixth hour

Basilisk gave the mixture a dubious look as he followed the instructions he was given. He was expecting to stuff up even that small of a task. He really didn't have a knack for anything healing. He nodded his understanding and Ollie's work and moved forward, sniffing carefully at certain points of her body. Near her neck, her underside. Away from the worst of the blood marks. No pack, like Ollie said, but there was a hint of other wolves. Nothing and no one he recognised from Boreas or Auster, and the council meeting in the Hallows had gim him a good reservoir of scents to draw from.


“No, we don't. Too crude and damaging. I want our slaves to eventually seek a real rank in the Armada. If we treated them to the whip they would never strive to join us.” He explained, thinking there was now one exception to the rule. His Iggy. He would not allow her to leave the rank. “I believe we have ourselves here a runaway slave. If that proves true - people may come looking for her. We could probably buy her for little to nothing, your medical care would come at a steep cost.” He winked at Ollie