Psalm ran, somewhere in the back of her mind she had the notion of picking up her father's scent and tracking him down, demanding he take her with her and leaving her whole life in Abaven behind but she had lost his trail miles back, and yet her paws hadn't stopped, away, away and away from her brothers, from her den from the life she'd lived with her father, all of it crumbling under her paws as she ran. Tears had stopped some time back which was almost worse because the pain hadn't and now she was left without a way to vocalize it. Psalm may have kept running like that until she reached the end of the continent... that was if she hadn't crossed into the grove, large trees with winding roots replacing the lush grasses and shrubbery, and she suddenly found one of her paws entangled in their vein like grasp. The young Destruction tipped forwards, landing with a splash into the freezing water that wound through the grove. And like that it was the end of her erratic flight but her mind was not quieted, wet and now slowly growing colder as the autumn wind blew through soaked fur she found herself compelled to scream. And so she did. Her voice lifting into a sound of pain, of grief, and under it all of anger. "Speech"

Art by MothT

He was woken by the initial outcry, though the fading echoes were what rattled through his skull as he became fully conscious. That couldn't be good. Scrambling to his paws, the swamp dweller fled his den without thinking to don his mask. If there was danger he would just have to face it on his own. Broad paws landing easily on the winding roots that wove through the mangrove, he scanned the surrounding vegetation for signs of disturbance from the other inhabitants. Natural ambiance throughout the swamp had ground to a halt, the sounds of birds and frogs cut short by the potential threat. There were no ripples moving through the bioluminescent waters to indicate a struggle nearby, so he continued to pick up his pace. Moving from a steady lope to a harried sprint, he wove through the trees until he reached the outskirts of the mangrove. It was only by happenstance that he caught the scent of a wolf moving on the breeze, but as he followed it he found himself gazing down at a muddy girl around his age. She looked thoroughly distraught, and tears tracked through the muck clinging to her cheeks. Balancing his meager bulk easily across the roots of a nearby tree, the emerald marked wolf couldn't stop himself from ambling closer. There were no attackers, aside from whatever plagued her mind. Endeared by her pale nose poking out amongst the mess, and those baleful blue eyes, he found himself wanting to pick her up and wrap her in furs- set her beside the fire with a nice meal. This wasn't a rare occurrence per se, since he had a tendency to collect broken toys. Verdant gaze trained on her features, he blinked at her a few times before remembering he ought to say something now. "Are you okay?" he questioned hesitantly. Wow, good one there buddy. She's definitely not okay, half the continent probably heard her screaming. "You'll catch cold soon," he tried next, which was an equally terrible starter. She was a little bigger than he was, though that was hardly a feat in itself, but not nearly as dramatically as some of the warriors in nearby packs. "I can get the fire going at my den, if you want somewhere to get cleaned up." he offered next, tipping his head in the direction he'd just come. The old tree was more than big enough to accommodate several wolves by the fire, and he wasn't about to leave the poor thing to catch her death. ooc. if you are sick of me stealing all ur threads lemme know and I'll get this one deleted lmao I just couldn't resist Bog on his home turf "speech" thinking "others"