Moonspear the secret face within the tapestry

She came to drape her head along his shoulders, her sigh almost content as queries rolled off her tongue. It went fair, was the suggestive silent answer he gave then with a tilt one way and another of his head. His meetings had gone well he thought, at least no heads had gone rolling. His hide was still intact. When he was about to comment on the suggestion he and Rannoch had proposed when she spoke again. With an ear turned back to listen to the lilt of her voice, she captured his attention whole.

"But you didn't," he commented neutrally, hushed lower tones in accompaniment. Taking an eye wasn't the same as a death, but it was a severe hinderance. He almost spoke again before his thoughts composed themselves; he recalled that it had been apparent no wolf had any dealing in what had happened to Galaxy. Hydra no doubt seethed with a passion he could only imagine and perhaps not surprising, did not want to. He remained an outsider to the finer workings and so far it had served him well, at least as far as he was concerned.

A span of silence developed as he processed the information, but it was neither too short or long. He felt he knew what to say but putting it in the right order took finesse and a delicate choice of words. Dirge did not pluck them hastily from nothingness.

"The wilderness will have their way with him I suppose. Though I am sorry there was little that could be done for your sister." He held onto questions about her sister, about whether or not revenge had been as satisfactory as it had wanted to be. For as close as they were physically, he kept himself at arm's length still... but the usual wit was absent from his low tones. Yes, it was better to gloss this over; their law was their law, just as their grief was solely theirs too. His judgment or lack thereof wouldn't have made a difference.

So he opted to remain a comforting headrest instead.