Moonspear if he sleeps, he will get better

Just as he would prove himself to her, she would to him, he knew this. Perhaps she knew it too, as she seemed willing to keep him. He was in no mood for an overabundance of drivel, so it was pleasing that she took note of this - the lack of use in his voice, his clear simpleton manners - and did not ramble on. Her voice was still firm and still confident, but he noticed a slight flair to it now; she sounded pleased, or at the very least, amused. If he could amuse her, then Lazarus believed he could do much, much more. In time she would come to love him as a piece of the mountain. He would posses her in every manner as the king of the peak, one day. A thoughtful eye landed upon her dark face, but did not linger long. A flick of gold to meet her eyes, bore in to them in that singular fleeting moment, as if his intentions could be so easily read, and he was twisting his head away again - deferring for now.

Prove worthwhile, and you may stay. she said to him, and he slid closer, closer, until he was a hair's breath away from her; but he did not attack despite the speed with which he moved. Lazarus was still submissive, his hindquarters nearly meeting the mountainside as he shot towards her, and was effectively kneeling before her - his snout sliding beneath her chin, breathing her in with gusts of breath while he - using the bestial manner of the wolf - agreed to her terms. He would prove himself to her, and she would see. A pleased rumble came bubbling out of him as he administered a brazen mixture of affection and submission to her; nibbling softly at the fur of her throat as he solidified his place among the Moonspear wolves.