The Mourning Bells Are Ringing

His answer to her enquiry was a negative. But of course, Erani had come to a land called Ciroc, long before the Old land, and even longer before this one. Calarada was a distant memory, though its traditions from the Nomads, and Redwood Pack were not lost.The Old Tongue was a solid foundation in that land. She nodded slightly to herself. His pace paused until she continued on, the silence growing until he spoke again, asking of her origin, and guessing correctly that she hadn’t come from where he had hailed.

She nodded. "Rugadh mé sa talamh. San iarthar ar an Plains Vericona nuair a bhí sé fós faoi riail an mo phaca breithe, Valhalla. Mo mháthair, Erani Rugadh, i dtalamh ar a dtugtar Calarada. Tá an Sean Teanga chomh líofa is atá an chaint choitianta anseo." She continued on in silence for a few feet, her mind mulling over her own past; the rise and fall of Valhalla, and how everyone seemed out to get the good natured pack, even when it had posed no threat to anyone who didn’t mess with it. All Valhalla had done, to her knowledge, was exist, say no to Isardis, and fight back in a pointless siege. Her muzzle tingled where the four scars left by an opponents claws during her part in the battle.

Her tail flicked impatiently at the thoughts crossing her mind. It would all be over, if Epiphrons news about Ebony laying siege to Arcanum, with two of Pips wolves lending a paw, ended in success for Ebony. She’d have to take a walk over toward the old Valhallan lands to see how that had fared.

Walk ---- "Speak" ---- "Hear" ---- Think