Sceral is dead. Sceral is dead. Sceral is dead. The Old Man up north hadn't lied -- the wolves of the Bend truly believed that Lena's father had perished. They had mourned his passing, grieved for the loss of their brother, their pack mate, their friend, and now her daughter just appeared, spouting off all sorts without knowing about the pain they had faced.
Her stomach heaved, and threatened to escape her throat. She trembled on the spot for a moment, her jaw opening and closing like a fish on land. "I," was the only thing she could respond with for a moment as she stood, mind reeling with emotions she couldn't process all at once. She swallowed the bile in her throat, blinked hard as she stared at Serach. "He's not dead." It was all she could say at the time, until suddenly questions were asked. His tone demanded the answers he wanted. Lena wanted to apologise profusely, to skulk away for daring to upset the balance -- to throw off the personal calm he must have finally reached.
"North. Dad's -- he's north. It took me a long time to make this journey. I ... I don't know what happened. He, he has a family now. Me and Amelié, and mum. I don't know why he didn't come back! I mean, I do! But, I -- I don't want to ..." she hung her head. "He was too ashamed. I don't think he ever thought you'd think he was dead. He thinks you hate him. That the whole pack hates him. I wanted to ... to find proof that he isn't hated. I'm sorry, I didn't know -- I didn't think. I'm sorry if I upset you."
She fell silent, waiting for some form of backlash. Perhaps it was fear that had her rooted to the spot, but her heart was racing as if it wanted to sprout legs and gallop off on its own. "And the woman. She said she was the leader of Oak Tree Bend. Dark fur, scars. Looked, uhm, pretty beat up. Met her by that creek, further south. It's why I'm going back north. I -- Serach, I'm sorry. Should I leave? Should I go away?"