Silvertip Mountain A change of pace

When she answered, her voice remained quiet, making his ears push forward in order to catch her words. They then fell back, having found her reasoning to be somewhat sad. To be raised in an environment that expected such degrading behavior must have been a horrible experience—or so was what he believed. “I am not ranked much higher than you,” Alastor pointed out, his own voice soft with caution. It bothered him that she had not raised her head to meet his gaze, but with what he’d just been told, he assumed that to avoid eye contact was another thing that had been engraved into her mind. With that realization, he could not prevent the look of pity that slipped across his face. Again, without thinking, he took a step towards her. This time, however, he did not close the distance entirely in order to touch his muzzle to her body. No, he allowed some distance to remain between them, then lowered his own body down in front of her own. He kept his gaze on her face, worry showing through his eyes.

“You do not have to apologize, it was the way you were raised,” the male murmured, careful to keep his voice lowered since they were in a closer proximity to one another. “But please, try not to do it again. I do not want to be the cause of someone feeling they must act in such a manner.” It still troubled him, the way he’d been greeted. The Greek was raised to respect those above himself, yes, but never had he been forced to fully submit to them. The acknowledgement alone had always been enough, but then again, his birth pack had been a very peaceful place—almost abnormally so. They’d focused more on working together as a family, as equals, rather than forcing others to bow before them. Such rituals had seemed barbaric to those within his first pack, as they did to Alastor in present day. If one was truly in power, they did not need constant reassurance by having their wolves perform such a humiliating display. A true leader needed only the faintest of acknowledgements of their class, and even that was too much for some.

The male’s head tilted a bit, his icy gaze once again attempting to make a connection with hers. “You may look at me,” he said, wondering if voicing something along the lines of ‘giving permission’ might work. “Consider us equals. You do not need to avoid my gaze, I will not harm you if you look at me.” Even if he weren’t some variation of a pacifist, he still wouldn’t even consider harming her just for looking at him. Such an action was considered truly vile in his eyes. With his intentions, or lack thereof, spoken aloud, he waited to see how she would react. He remained laying down, stomach pressed against the earth as his pale gaze lingered on her face. All he could do then was wait, and thus he did exactly that in silence.

Please forgive my crummy post, aha. It's currently four something in the morning, so my writing isn't quite up to par