Moonspear if he sleeps, he will get better

She must see him! She must know what it is he is doing - this dance, deeply rooted as it was within every wolf. Lazarus did not bow to many, but he bowed to her; perhaps it was odd that he would, given that they did not know one another, and there was no reason for him to trust in her. His lack of knowledge did not concern him. The dark woman was strong and powerful, as he was. She held herself like a leader, which he one day hoped to become. And this place, this mountain home of her's, was secondary upon the list of things he required. Had another come to meet him here, he would not be bowing so fervently and so easily; but it was this woman who made him buckle. Lazarus had many desires and they were whimsical things, coming and going in fleeting spouts of fancy - and for all his boorishness, he held tight to those desires. She had become one of those things, an object to covet, simply by existing near him.

Her words rankled his spirit, however. They told him that she was ignorant to their ways, softened perhaps by a life upon the mountain - or perhaps it was simpler than even that. Perhaps she was not the same kind of beast as himself, finding words too clumsy on his tongue and the sound of his own voice grating to his ears. She spoke cleanly, exuding confidence and demanding answers. The beast lifted himself from the bow but kept his posture submissive, curling his tail underside himself so that it touched his belly, and averted his eyes from her darkness.

Lazarus, his voice rumbled, crackling and changing pitch like a fire might; he did not enjoy the sound and seemed to flinch from it, ears pinning. Her second question took a moment to process within his mind, or so it seemed. He did not think it necessary to answer something his body had already proclaimed: he wanted to serve her. Though his mind is a bit slow, he manages a response that, hopefully, is both sensible and truthful to the ear. The mountain... Calls to me.