: The Swarmed :
The scent of sickness seeps into every crack in this den, as wolves reduced to mounds of fur and meat lay around weakly. Holy Locust is tending to those she can, though with eyes narrowed she must send who cannot be saved off past the forest line.Being healthy, though, is not enough; any omen of the scourge must be left behind, inbreds and unwanteds mull about waiting to be chased from these settled lands.
The infection can't spread, the weak must go.