Elders were the most troublesome breed in every pack.
They clung to tradition like drowning men to driftwood, resisted change with the stubbornness of ancient oaks, and wielded their influence like a blade honed over decades. So naturally, every eye in the room fixed on them, waiting, breath held, for their response.
"We don't object." One of the elders spoke, his voice gravelly with age. His sharp gaze swept the room, lingering on Voren. "But if there are any changes we deem unfit, we shall voice our concern."
Voren nodded, accepting the condition without argument. His attention moved to the shaman, who sat in quiet observation near the window. "Shaman, is it allowed for us to make these changes?"
"If it's for the benefit of the pack, then yes." The shaman's voice carried the weight of ancient knowledge, calm and unwavering.
Voren turned to the last person at the table. "Beta Kael, do you have any objections to any changes?"
