Moonspear the secret face within the tapestry

She slipped away to the downy furs of his chest; he preened and toussled the passing of dark hair as she wound again to his other side. A small gesture of comfort no doubt, but it was there nonetheless. His gaze focused on her, meeting the deep blue of her own as though he could read what wasn't bared of her soul. Silence held from his end as she continued speaking and curiosity bloomed when she looked away—was it shame that steered her away? Or perhaps it was a hurt simply too deep that made all justified where words could fill a void, he did not decide nor ponder.

"This doesn't change my thoughts any," he said to answer her original query. It was twisted, but if he inferred her doubtful moment right, then it was a true statement. It changed nothing for him, but he was ever steadfast to stay true to what he intended to do. "If I recall correctly, you were hunting someone down the night we met as well. Far be it from me to say this all that different in theory, though maybe you decided to be more benevolent than vengeful," because the wolf still had a tongue after all. His head canted ever so slightly, and he licked his lips as words found their place again.

"The end justifies the means to me." He had her favor and he sought to keep it there, though his words were genuine; he was far enough removed to truly be upset over action and reaction. A wolf had died, hell had been given to a loiterer on the property, justice was done. There were far more malicious things that could come to any of them and he thought that maybe this was just the way of the world.