Questions. Questions. Questions.
That's all the Eastern Alpha-Chiefs seemed to have. Questions about trade. About borders and territory laws. About rogue wolves slipping across boundaries and threatening packs. About Shepherds harassing werewolves in broad daylight.
I'm stood in that circle of fire for what felt like hours, answering as best as I could, pulling all the information Rowan and Caleb drilled into me during the drive to San Diego out of my head and processing it into coherent words for those that ask.
I tried my best, I really did: The answers were there, but they felt so rehearsed, so hollow in my mouth, lacking the practiced conviction that dripped from my opponents.
Kestrel scoffed every time I opened my mouth, like I was a boy fumbling through high school debate club practice. Casper chuckled, butting into my words at every opportunity with with the ease of someone who's been politicking since birth.
