Neverwinter Forest death and death

It was strange to Tonravik. Not that he had cubs, but that he had no mate; it defied the only logic in which she understood, in that she existed by. Love, too, was a strange word. Lasher was a man with depth, where she was quite surface-level. He was not an alpha, as she had thought, but a beta; that he had cubs meant the year had been a prosperous one.

To his question, she shook her head. No cubs. No mate. Not yet. And as for love, it was something too complex for her to comprehend or imagine. So it could be said that she denied that in the shake of her proud head in its entirety. He knew, already, she led. There was no reason for her to waste her breath on that. "You are welcome to the Spine only if you return to us," she rumbles, and, never one to beat around the bush, "Return to us." His company, his familiarity and his knowledge, she hoped to gain. He could not, not yet. But he was Tartok; when he came, he would be welcomed home. Until then, he would be chased away; it was their way, always their way, and that, and who they always were, had never been a mystery to him. He had spoken once of his hate, and knew well of his silver tongue, but did not think the man a liar when he spoke his sorrows.