01-02-2016, 12:08 AM
Stoic gruff beast that he is, wouldn't imagine much making the wolf sad. Wouldn't imagine him showing it much. Latter might be true enough, but former isn't: he feels sadness, profoundly, when the ghost wolf rests his muzzle against them. There's no real contact. That sail has sailed. There's only the intimation of it, the memory of it, along with gratitude. And goodbye.
The last of the fog lifts, and the phantom is gone. Left in its wake, wolf straightens up. Flexes the hand that the ghost had tried to touch. Looks down at the box, and the last belongings of their fallen brother. Realizes he didn't know that wolf's name, either.
Three gifts for the three of them. Three dead things who'd stolen this, and whose lives paid for its return. Somewhere in that thick skull of his he has some modicum of courtesy; some memory of the laws of their people. He doesn't immediately reach in.
Flicks a glance at the Adren instead. "First share to greatest rank," he mutters.
The last of the fog lifts, and the phantom is gone. Left in its wake, wolf straightens up. Flexes the hand that the ghost had tried to touch. Looks down at the box, and the last belongings of their fallen brother. Realizes he didn't know that wolf's name, either.
Three gifts for the three of them. Three dead things who'd stolen this, and whose lives paid for its return. Somewhere in that thick skull of his he has some modicum of courtesy; some memory of the laws of their people. He doesn't immediately reach in.
Flicks a glance at the Adren instead. "First share to greatest rank," he mutters.
BECAUSE OF LIGHT AND DUTY AND REASONS.