The Heartwood who doesn't say a word,

He knew that it was stupid of him to remain in the nameless girl’s presence – the more time he spent with her, the more he wanted to remain at her side. Which was completely ridiculous, as Styx never wanted to be in the company of others (especially permanent company). As much as the silver-eyed girl annoyed him, he was also intrigued by her – her persistence in finding her brother, and how quickly her attitude changed while she was with him. Just as she did to him, the hybrid seemed to bring something out in the coffee-coloured female that surprised even her. With his bright, seafoam gaze still focused on the female, his lips wrinkled into a deep frown at the mention of a pack. “Pack.” A growl formed around the word as it spat off his tongue, as if the word held a displeasing flavour. “I don’t belong to a pack. Never have, never will.” As he spoke the hybrid nodded firmly, brows narrowed as his gaze did not waver from the silver-eyed girl. “Wolves don’t take kindly to filthy hybrids like myself,” he added as a feeble attempt to lighten the mood. The youth was not particularly fond of speaking about packs – most wolves did not want a mutt like Styx to join their ranks, so he avoided the idea as much as possible.