We both know we can't go without it

Pantaleimon felt kind of silly for mentioning seemingly random facts, searching for something in common with Nightjar, and for something to talk about. She sometimes forgot that there were plenty of other wolves who didn’t mind being silent without feeling uncomfortable.

A smile crept across Pan’s face when Nightjar seemed to respond positively, glad that they had something in common. She stared absently at the shrub he’d rubbed against for a moment. She sniffed it briefly, seemed content with its scent – Redhawk – and looked up at Nightjar when he asked if Pan’s sisters had liked her.

At the confession he thought his sisters did not like him, Pan’s face creased into a sad frown. She wanted to ask why, but decided to answer his question first. ”We were kinda close, I – I guess. Well, until, uhm… ‘til we were about your age, I guess. When they found out I was a boy, wasn’t, uhm, a Siren, like them.” Pan shifted her weight uncomfortably as she explaind, and she realized only then that she had never spoken a word to Perry and Fox’ pups about her heritage.

”What makes you think your sisters don’t like you?” Pantaleimon asked Nightjar, hoping it was something fleeting or fixable, or maybe just a feeling. She’d never heard Raven or Wildfire speak ill of Nightjar, at least.