#!!!!.

The Vixen

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It did not take long for the news to be passed on. A fucking massacre, that’s what it was, hat’s what it felt like. It was not long ago that they were attacked, recently since they had lost their commandant. But now this? 

A joke, an unforgivable turn of events that must be repaid. How long did they go with the flow? How long did they allow the Russian’s staying under the wing of the Rutherfords? It no longer matter how it happened, who was it that done it or the circumstances behind it. 

Now, the fault was on the Russians and the Rutherfords for bringing them there. Alliance or no alliance, it was time to do something about. 

Étienne knew, understood, that the difficulties would arise from this moment. He understood their people will be grieving; he understood they suffered losses that no count could repay them. Not even the head of Kosta Vorshevsky, because it still wouldn’t bring them back. 

There was still some hope, a smidge of that, Laurent and Varden would survive, but the shake of the doctor's heads showed that it, perhaps, would take a miracle for that to happen. A miracle. 

No, this time he would not let it slide with a death of one.