Duskfire Glacier love will always be a lesson

It was to Ishtar's surprise that she responded to his errant questioning though the beast had left it open either way. She spoke of the stars and as if on some sort of silent cue ethereal mint gaze lifted to the heavens to study the velveteen and rich colors of the darkness, offering the small pierces of white dots in the veil an errant glance. The clearing did offer a nice break in the treeline for moderate stargazing but this explication did not placate him. “If it is the stars you seek to admire the Glacier is more suitable for stargazing then this small clearing.” And if she would have went to the Glacier itself then he wouldn't have been having this conversation with her and his meal would have went uninterrupted. Try as he might he could not shed the soft annoyance he felt at her during his meal. She may not have spoken to him but he felt as if he'd been interrupted all the same. 

“Most wolves respect another, a stranger no less, when they are trying to eat.” To come upon another when they were eating in neutral territory could be so very easily seen as a threat to the beast. Though there remained hardly anything worth stealing of his once vulpine and he held no interest in her meal. She seemed determined to dance around this with him but Ishtar held no interest in a dance. He could not forcibly make her move — these were not his lands to make commands upon, and thus far she had not done anything to earn the lash of his ire. He was annoyed, perhaps, but so long as it was not provoked it would pass.

His tail lashed behind him once, weight shifting upon the hard earth ever so slightly, to make it easier for him to maintain keeping her in his relative sights over his shoulder without compromising his comfort. “They call me Ishtar,” He spoke, noting the flash of cyan blue from the shadows as she dined. It was not his given name but it befit him more than the name he had been christened with nevertheless. 'Lachlan' ceased to exist these days, had died many years ago when he'd been but a pup. Ishtar had became his identity ever since. “Ishtar was a Babylonian god of the underworld. Of the realm of the dead.” He always spoke of it with muted curiosity, not to boast but because he was always searching for the stories of this Babylonian God of Death. He was not religious by any means of the word: his survival was his own and not predetermined nor guided by any deities' hand. Yet, there was power in a name and this the beast could not and would not repudiate.