The Sentinels long dead rows of daffodils and marigolds

The story that followed took the pale creature by some surprise. It was short, to the point, and seemed to have happened when the wolf had been younger. When he had finished, Smokestep lifted himself up to his legs again and smirked softly. “Well, sink me then mate... that's some right good strength ye've got yerself,” he complimented with a swish of his tail and a quick glance with two colored eyes. It was then that he noticed the mangled rear limb on the male and he gaped his mouth a bit daftly, moving himself around to get a better look at the thing. His gaze was intent, but not hostile, and filled with a dark interest. Once he'd gotten his eye-full, the pale creature looked back to the male's face and then motioned swiftly with his muzzle toward the mangled hind leg.

“An' wot there? Ye chew it til it turned to shark bait?” further questions fell, but he could only assume that if the brute had clawed his own eye from his face, he was more than capable of gnawing a little too hard on the leg and causing the damage there. The scars had been much deeper, though, and Smokestep was rearing to call bull on any self infliction that Brig might claim. He did not imagine that a wolf could do such a thing to their own leg. So far, he liked the male, and his candid responses. The corsair was curious to know if the stranger would grow tired of him and his persistence.