One man's trash

Basilisk watched the struggling wolf silently for a moment. With two new territories, the Armada had a lot of work ahead of them. Had it been a foolish move to free this damaged, tiny wolf? He shook his head, undecided. “You can call me Warlord.” he told her as she struggled to her paws.

His muzzle set into a thin line as he surveyed her. He wanted her to prove she was not worthless to him, but in her current state she would take forever to return to the Armada with him. After a moment of deliberating, he nodded his companion forward. The reindeer trotted into position beside her, standing steady and still at her side. He grabbed her by the scruff and pulled her upwards, depositing her on the deer's back. She weighed so little, it wasn’t a difficult feat to move her.

He held her in place with his muzzle, and they walked. Heading to the Armada, and straight to the Col. First order of business would be having Oleander check her out. If he deemed her fit for duties, she would start her work in his den. He sent Larimar ahead to fetch him.

"Basilisk Fatalis"