Perhaps she was a fool for attempting to speak cordially to the other, but it could not said that the Vale wolf was without courtesy. Her tolerance extended beyond the realm of most, but even she was not without her tipping point. Disrespect when the contrary had been earned served as an immediate spark to the lengthen fuse, but even then it was quite a while before the inevitable explosion. At least that was what she practiced time and time again.
Yet the tone of the female’s voice made the length of the fuse shorten considerably.
Again her lip trembled, yet she retained her practiced air of calm through a single deep breath. “The scent of the Creek is nearly gone from you,” quietly she shared her observation. “Only wanderers or lost wolves lose their scent of the pack after time.” Her tail lashed at her ankles as stout ears slanted forward. Though intrigue would not fully reach her eyes, it was apparent by her observation. Had the female been kicked from the pack, she wondered. Alone now with no backing… destitute and aimless? While the warden could very well sympathize-had this been the case, having once been a wandering vagabond herself, she did not share an ounce of it with the transgressor. Rather she was curious for reply more so for her mate’s sake. If she was to return to him with possible news of this female's discharge from the Creek, he might overlook her absence in place of yet another obsession to pursue. |