she runs on indignation

Citali's ears were keen, too keen in Arion's opinion. His comment was supposed to be inaudible to her, but somehow she had heard it and the Greek was impressed. He didn't necessarily care that she had heard something she wasn't supposed to hear; he only said things for others to listen, after all. In fact, sometimes he simply assumed there was someone listening and continued speaking; Chiron had told him that that happened often. Other wolves might assume he was mad, Arion simply explained that this particular trait he had was because he had too high a level of intelligence and because others were stupider, they simply assumed he was crazy.

Not that the Greek ever cared for the opinions of others. The day he did, was the day he died. Or changed for the worst.

Arion's gazed flicked lazily over to Citali, noticing that she was now tapping her foot impatiently. He grinned internally to himself and looked to the ground once more, concentrating on his work. It amused him to see her annoyed. Why? Even he did not know. Perhaps it was also the trait of a genius. "I have several," the stallion drawled in reply to her comment about his many names. "I'll start calling you Shit Lady then," Arion told her, a faint smirk on his lips. "Or brown shit."

However, the Greek obeyed her and gathered up the rest of the herbs. He briefly contemplated whether or not to just leave, before finally deciding to help, albeit rather grudgingly. "Why am I doing this?" he grumbled to himself as he shot them both a few glares before leading them to the clearing. "I must be growing too soft."