Tuktu Weir confessions of a sociopath

seabreeze, he'd been close. the wisp rolls his shoulders in a faintly-haughty shrug at trajan's expression; mato and seabreeze had both seemed thrown off by his questioning about them before. "well, he didn't exactly deny it," he says, expression turning a little mischevious. in the long run whether the pair were together or would be together was fairly inconsequential but here del is, gossiping with his new pack-mate, and that counts for something surely. 

it is hard to find fault with the forest, even for the singing-sunlight's critical view. he spares the roman a glance, the earlier traces of sullenness wiped from his gaze. "i guess," delight says after a moment, properly disgruntled by it. it's almost too nice. they're probably all going to be killed by the elk king or something. the boy falls into easy silence, watching the lines of the soldier as they both move forward, partly-unconsciously mimicking the pattern of his foot falls. it's objectively admirable, trajan's outwardly radiating confidence, the obvious strength of his form, though del himself does not particularly aspire to it. "have you already got your trades sorted?" he asks, partly curious himself and partly just wanting a sounding board for his own mixed thoughts. the wisp wanted to prove himself - to mato, yeah, to his packmates - but mostly to himself.