Tuktu Weir confessions of a sociopath

Nothing escapes the Roman's keen bi-coloured gaze. He catches the way the other wolf relaxes slightly, the way he tilts his head and flicks his ear. He senses that the other is nervous much to his own amusement, and at the younger's reply, moves his silver crown in an almost imperceptible nod. Trajan's countenance remains carefully indifferent, his stance screaming insouciance but he bears a guarded wariness that tells another story, and that never once shifts throughout the encounter with the boy. A glint, however, does entire his gaze as Delight introduces himself. It is the glint that often has him branded a rebel - one that marks him either a genius, or a madman.
"Delight Singing-Sunlight," the soldier repeats quietly in his low, lilting voice. "You don't seem much of a delight to me," he deadpans, eyeing the boy up and down, "and you're not really singing any sunlight, are you? This place is quite dark." Not once does his expression shift, and he watches Delight, wanting to see what kind of reaction his words would provoke. Of course, once the boy reacts, or if he doesn't react - the greyscale soldier would relax slightly, offer him a crooked half-smile and an incline of his head.
"Kidding. But, it's a bit true," he shrugs, eyes softening. "I'm Trajan," the shadow introduces easily. "Trajan Frostfur-diAngelo. And yes, I am patrolling. You are welcome to join me, that is, if you wish to join Mato's fledgling pack." He awaits the boy's reply with a quiet sort of ease, his eyes flitting away to scan his surroundings, ever observant.