Coconut Grove Wash him deep where the tides are turning

One ear turned as she spoke, taking in the distracting screeches of seagulls that wheeled high above them, but Grievous' focus seemed to be wholly on the raven-wolf before him; charmed, perhaps, by her willingness to talk with him. It wasn't often that others took no guard or offense to his natural menace, and he appreciated it more than he could express. His genuine interest in her tale turned to a similar sort of puzzlement as he wondered over what had caused her to return to a land that had not dealt her much glory. Grievous licked his chops thoughtfully.

"Art thou a wolf who believes in the divine? Or fate?" he asked curiously. He was a practical man himself, choosing only to believe in what he saw or what he smelled, but his father had been a wolf of deep religion, and had Tytonidae been speaking with him, she might have gotten a long-winded lecture on the inevitability of her own choices. "Such things seem to be a silly notion to me... but when presented with a conundrum as this, it sometimes feels difficult to deny with all certainty."