Lone Star Mountain belonging to the night

Focussed though the dark wolf was on the female's very sweet appearance (Noctura was, after all, a hot-blooded male in his prime), he did not fail to see what other magic exuded from her. Emotional intelligence. Unfettered belief. A fearlessness that seemed to stem from faith in some overpowering goodness. In some ways she was a breath of fresh air, but she was also oddly familiar. He hadn't met anyone like her before, but he had felt what she stood for. He'd felt it when he'd watched three oblivious fox cubs playing in the distance. He'd felt it when he'd seen the stars appear suddenly from behind a raincloud. He'd felt it when a single blue butterfly had landed on his ear in the dead of Winter.

It was as if he knew her. Or rather, he knew her magic. He just hadn't known that such magic could take the form of a wolf.

Noctura was quite in control of himself right now because he wasn't in claimed territory surrounded by creatures naturally inclined towards hierarchy. He had no idea what to make of the idea that this was an Alpha who did not expect her inferiors to submit. Hierarchy was often about personality and bonds, yes, but it was also about simple, primal, wild instinct, natural and aggressive.

Wasn't it...?

He felt as though he'd been walking through the clouds and had suddenly taken a wrong footing. The idea of some exceptional wolf pack that superseded what instinct demanded was simply beyond his reckoning. And Noctura felt like he needed to continue his point — convince her that, no, he was a threat, a beast, unpredictable and savage. But she was too persuasive. Asterr. The idealist, the charmer. The persuader.

My name is Noctura. It was all he could say. For the first time in his life, he was being encouraged to question his very nature as a part of this world.