Bird listens as Emily continues to weave the tale of the Rite, here and there adding his broken humming to Hector's throat singing. Ever-observant eyes watch as the ritual has its effect on his fellow Irraka.
His gaze drifts to Bleeds Well as the Rahu says his piece: "Fire could work. All we'd need is an idea how the pack to the South marks their territory. Leave some of their signs in the area before and after. All of the sudden, it's a turf war." He shrugs. "I can do some recon down south, need be. Look into their tags."
Only three, Chris says. Not bad odds.
Now his attention is on Tiny: "Don't like it," he says. Matter of fact. "Keeps us in the middle. Shows our hand. If the fuckers to the North aren't driven off and the fuckers to the South are scared, they could still get together. Make a problem."