Lone Star Mountain belonging to the night

Noctura was a romancer, and so a more epic story might have suited him better — perhaps that he had wandered from beyond the sea, leaping from isle to isle, swimming with the sharks, moving with the waves, and perhaps borrowing from the force of nature around him. But no, he'd been plonked in a crate, stacked on a ship, and the memories of those choppy waters had been so blind and claustrophobic that he'd blocked them out for years.

Did this count as "harm"? Truly, Noctura had never really thought about humans before. When he'd been in captivity he'd been a young puppy, and therefore mostly under the protection of his mother and far away from groping human hands, and he didn't really associate the crate incident with humans. And the moment he and the others had been set free, he and his father Crunch had ventured far, and there had been no sight nor sound of humans since.

Not that I can recall, was the simple answer. And I've never been particularly bothered by harm. It sounded odd, but it was true. Crunch had "harmed" him in a number of ways, but Noctura did not act or feel like someone who'd had a traumatising upbringing. Just an extremely wild one.

It interested him more to learn about this dark girl with the lovely form and articulate voice. She spoke of home and away, and also of... "those who have pledged themselves to it and me." He made no comment, but was surprised on the inside. This little thing was an Alpha? Noctura could barely compute. All he could think was that if a creature like Crunch were to discover this yearling at the head of a pack, she'd be dead within seconds. The fur of his neck bristled fiercely just thinking about it.

Settling down... no. He confirmed quietly. The night is my own. It's a home I share with many.