A New Home

Majesty was intrigued by this little black she-wolf. Her voice still gave him chills, but she seemed kind enough. "I am known as Tyrande Nightshade," she said, "toxicologist of Silvertip Mountain, but there is no need for formalities and titles here, so you may call me Tyrande, or even Tyra, if you wish."

Majesty smiled at her again and dipped his head in acknowledgment and greeting. "Tyrande it is, then." He appreciated her offer of a nickname, but he didn't know her very well yet, and he thought it would be rude of him to skip straight past her full name right after meeting her.

"These are crystal bits that I had collected," Tyrande continued, tipping the bowl toward him. "They had fallen off their clusters and onto the floor, and it's a hassle to have to watch where you step so as not to step on them. So I decided to take some liberty in getting them out of the way and collecting them for my own reasons."

Majesty rose and came forward, ever aware of his much larger size, and so he stepped as lightly as he could. He did not want to frighten off his first friend in this new pack. As he bent down to study the glimmering crystal shards, he asked, "Toxicologist? I have not heard of this title. What do you do as a toxicologist? Mix poisons, perhaps? The word does have 'toxic' in it. And what reason would you have for collecting these beautiful crystal shards?"

As he spoke, his voice rumbled forth from his chest, a deep sound, lilted a bit with an accent no one could recognize. Others often told him that he had a soothing voice, one that calmed their spirits. Whether or not this was true, he always took it into account before speaking, making sure to keep his voice smooth and calm.

He stared in wonder at the sparkling shards in the bucket, and then took in the bucket itself. "Did you make this yourself, Tyrande? My mother often had bowls like these lying around her den. She kept poultices and herbs in them."