It was at this precise moment that Maelor realized both mages behind him had turned around.
He spun, furious. Hyran was watching the wall with academic detachment. Aeron had his journal open and was sketching with an enthusiasm that bordered on feral.
"You absolute scoundrels," Maelor snapped.
Neither of them looked at him.
Maelor smoothed his robes with the furious precision of a man assembling a list of people who would be hearing about this later.
Then he saw the rest of the group and every grievance evaporated, replaced by something closer to bewilderment. Gold eyes on Dexmon. Gold eyes on Fin. Silver on Hale. Silver on Elara. Pink on Serena. Every wolf in the corridor blazing with light that had no business existing outside of pre-Accord scripture.
"All the wolves," Maelor said slowly, turning a full circle to take it in. His gaze landed on Gavriel, and his expression shifted to something that looked suspiciously like sympathy. "Except for one."
