Another day, another door – another high, another low. Crashing, smashing, burning low. He hadn’t stopped running since tucking Askan away in their shared den and briefly conspiring with Drestig; much to his disgust dismay, Wild Rye Fields did not have a resident medic. There was currently one pack with which they had an alliance – only luck had it said pack housed a medic (or two). Get Lachesis, the alpha had told him. And so he would. At least he knew were the River wolves kept.
It took him a little under three days to reach the back borders anyways. And he was really pushing it. Shit, he hoped Askan was okay. That fucking piece of trash, trying to purloin away his mate’s life, and for what? For glory? For pride? He snarled softly under his breath and stuttered to an uneasy halt.
The game tipped his head to summon the white wolf to the borders of Hearthwood River, but no sound came. Only the whistling of each gasped breath, his sides heaving – Reyes was forced to give himself a moment and swallow several times before he could muster any sort of howl at all. It was a warbling sound, hoarse and rasping – but it had urgency laced to its notes, and he could only hope the white wolf would understand that time was of the essence.