Since Elettra's death, Sven had not made a point of seeking out any wolf other than Attica. As his pack mates mourned so did he, privately. He did not need their grief compounding his own, did not want to see the faces that shared the same shame as he. Whether or not another soul believed it, the pale teenager felt that they all had a part to play in this tragedy. He'd been meant to take care of his grandmother, to ensure her happiness, and he had failed. She had been killed by the sorrow of seeing her mate dead, and Sven had done close to nothing to prevent it.
Yet wallowing could not be his way of life. There was nothing that could be done to bring his Nonna back from the grave, but he could ensure that all of these mistakes ceased once and for all. The pack would need to move forward, and he had his own particular, unspoken vision on how that was to occur.
First, though, he had questions. The wolf which hopefully had the questions for him was discovered not too far from the main den, which now felt so empty without Elettra to curl up next to each night.
With a woof Sven greeted his uncle, tail wagging only once each way before stilling behind him.
"Nicolo. Can we talk?"