Blackfoot Forest one they fear

It did not take long for the agouti female to accept Kierkegaard for what he had spoken. She had gritted her teeth before lowering her skull, but it was to be expected. Reluctance would be commonplace for a short while from the wolves of Rosings. They would not want him there; he was foreign to them. It would not be long before he would be integrated into the lifestyle that they had managed for so long. The brute had taken their culture and inserted himself into it with no regards. He had ripped a constant from them and demoted the pale creature to nothing more than scum. This was how the world worked. Change was a necessity to move forward.
 
The female inquired to Kierkegaard if he had harmed Aaron to the point that he would not be the same. The ashen man shook his head in response. “He is bruised and battered but he will be stronger for it in the days to come,” the beast responded to her with a solemn bow of his skull. “These are the ways of the world. Do not mourn for him; he has only lost hold of a kingdom.” It was as simple as that for Kierkegaard. He only hoped that the female before him would believe it to be the same.
 
“What are you called?” the brute inquired with a stern look in her direction. It would take him time to know these wolves and to see what their potential was. She had a curiosity about her, and though she may have seemed a bit too forward, he could sense potential there.