LERRIN
As he stood over the water he was using to bathe, scrubbing his arms with the thick cloth, Lerrin felt Asta scratch at his mind, and opened to her—only a window. He and Asta had always struggled for full connection—not uncommon among unmated wolves—but additionally, Lerrin had no energy left to let her feel him. She would never mention it, but he felt her silent judgment whenever he gave in to the weakness of emotion.
It was something she'd teased him about when they were young. And snarled at him for as they grew. An over-excited pup, she'd called him more than once. Quivering so he might pee himself. Lerrin gritted his teeth and continued to bathe.
What went wrong? She asked in his head.
Lerrin's lip curled. The Cat.
Through the limited connection he sent what images he could—of Lucine's body, the knife, the tracks and scents.
