Tuktu Weir confessions of a sociopath

Trajan catches Delight's smile and grins to himself in return — distantly, the boy reminds him of a younger version of himself and he's suddenly overwhelmed with a slight urge to protect the boy. He shakes those thoughts away quickly, almost disgusted at himself. What is he turning into? He's becoming too soft, this needs to change. But he'll deal with that later, not now. Now, he wishes to know the boy better.
"I know," Trajan replies softly and a little sadly. "I'm always prepared for the worst," he tells the yearling, wondering why he is even saying this to someone he barely knows, "but there's always a chance something good might happen. I hope that chance will come." He spares Delight a glance and bumps his nose to the boy's cheek quickly, if the kid does not manage to dodge it before he does and smiles softly.
'Chronicler," Trajan repeats thoughtfully, "that's a good choice." He doesn't have much of an interest in these things, but he understands that they're important. History and tradition is important, but they don't exist if no one is there to remember it and pass it on. Chroniclers are vital to the pack's survival and eventual legacy, just as warriors and healers and everyone else, and he appreciates them all the same. Trajan also finds it cute how excited Delight is, despite the boy trying to hide it. "It's cute how you're so excited," he laughs softly, gently "I'm sure you'll be a great chronicler," The Roman adds, allowing sincerity to seep into his lilting tone.