Bramblepoint in the deep of the night, near the edge of the know

The shadow countered well - a clever mind. Found indeed. Though he hoped her the best in finding her friend, there sprung a sense of gratitude to the one she looked for, for not seeking her sooner, nor for being here tonight, if only for the selfish reason of having this moment for himself. He knew the shadow only in the words she gave, but even if she spoke with bias, her words revealed who she believed herself to be - or not to be - and these revelations he treasured. Every wolf was a riddle, with lines that misled, yet at the same time guided toward a truer picture of the wolf often buried too deep for simple eyes to see.

He grinned, and so would have found himself mirroring the woman's face if he had the scope to see her. "Cruel, perhaps, but only to the unlearned, to the eyes of those who have not learned to revere the warmth and kindness and brilliance she gives." And he wondered at her sigh, and if she had been burned before - but for the moment, he held his question.

Her words to follow edged a shadow to his grin. "Every step she cannot take, I take twice for her," and he kept his voice in steady tandem with the shadow's - light, and playful, yet vague - for his words pressed upon him a weight he willed to carry alone. "But until then, I look and listen, and speak for the living and the dead, and search the shadows for those who are lingering, those who are seeking, and those who are lost." As he did now, unexpectedly, and with breath spent enough on himself, he redirected his curiosity to her. "Your feet have led you here, looking, but for whom?"