"Besides, you're a scent-suppressed outcast now. Reputation means nothing to you. What outsiders say won't change my feelings—I know it's fake, and that's enough. But he's different. He has no pack, no family to fall back on. He survives by his standing in the chronicle circles. If his image is destroyed, everything falls apart."
Listening to her grand justifications, I felt nothing but disgust.
A scent-suppressed outcast—and whose doing was that?
Back then, she hadn't just forced the pack council to revoke my position. She had spread word through every chronicle keeper's den across the territories: anyone who employed me would be making an enemy of her.
I was turned away from every interview. When I finally found a small private recording den willing to take me, she filed malicious complaints against them.
In the end, all my chronicle-keeping credentials were stripped away. I became a pariah that every wolf in the profession spat upon.
I had no desire to argue with her anymore. In just over half a moon's cycle, I would be completely free.