Whitefish River tired blue boy walks my way

A nod was the only thing which he replied to the woman, despite down him running through an entire list of words which he could have replaced the nod with. The response she had provided him with screamed her solitary life, how deep it had gorged it's claws in her lungs, the stillwater lacing her words with the abraisive response she gave. She was fresh, devoid of the pack life she once knew, but soon Slade and his family would change such thinking in the femme. There was much to learn, and for effects to be proper and natural, he would not rush her into this decision; she was free to leave whenever. She was no captive, no hostage. She was as free as a spirit  as she had always been. But once that pack howl solidified what they would have down in Shadewood, it would be final, and her life would no longer be simply hers to lead.

"Your past and mine are not too far from another, Aglæca. I too have been forever since serving another. But I chose not to serve any longer, more than likely different reasons than your own. Some wolves are meant to do more than be simple servants, just as some wolves are meant to not lead anyone but themselves. It is a fresh life, being a loner. No need to depend on another for your own desires, and holding your life clutched well between your own paws. I enjoyed it well in Phantom Hollows before a new lust took hold."

It was obvious what he referred to. He wasn't meant to serve another wolf; he was not old, decrepit, slouchy. He may have been a ripened wolf, but that made it all the better for him to take root and ground himself as a leader for others to look up to. He did indeed hope she understood, but if not, then the words would be cast as meaningless, and send adrift the wind.