if you see something, say nothing

Pleased with his success, Aesop dropped the plant beside the other one.  He scooped the earth back into the hole, patting it down to try and minimize the disturbance.  Once he was finished, the ground was a bit firmer, but the absence was glaring, a naked patch among the bare and brown grass.  Aesop nosed at the plant, turning it to inspect the roots and stalk.  Undamaged.  Excellent.

Atreyu's tone caught Aesop's attention.  "Generally, no," he said, amused.  "Don't look so disappointed.  Just because I don't like to doesn't mean I don't.  I didn't get these for nothin'."  At the last part, he brought a paw up to his nose, dragging it along his snout to indicate the myriad of scars on his face.  "I take it poison and subtlety aren't really your deal," said he, rather bluntly.  He meant nothing by it, simply that some wolves are made to fight and some are made for more subtle arts. 

Despite his appearances, he generally liked to think that he was more of the latter.  He knew that words could undo years of work, that bridges could be built and burned with a few carefully picked words to the right wolf.  That sometimes subtlety was dangerous and that sometimes a fight was the only true solution.  At least there was a simplicity in battle.