Moonspear the secret face within the tapestry

Her answer stirred his tail into a gentle wave, the pallor of events seemingly lifted for the time being. He could settle for that, he thought, at least for now. But the question thereafter stilled him ever so slightly in the silence that followed even with an answer quick on his tongue.

"Never," he said, "I tend to keep my snout out of such things. Wouldn't be good for my handsome face, I'll have you know." It sounded cheeky, as his was intent there, but it was also true. Though the thought of exacting revenge had passed his mind a time or two before, he had never acted on it. Cross, his grandfather, came to mind briefly but he had opted to play the long con on that. The wolf was growing old and if he had thought Dirge a threat, then he was oblivious to others and how the great wheel of time turned.

Such things, such bitter things had been on his mind months ago, but time had whisked them away. Leaving all that nonsense behind and embracing whatever freedom he could obtain had helped mold him in different shapes and directions.

"But I suppose there are times and places for everything," he concluded, once again preening at the downy hairs of her neck he could reach. "Perhaps one day even I will have a score that can't be settled any other way." And on that note, the rest of their evening seemed to fade to grey.