Phantom Hollow it's a dangerous business, going out your door

He was so quiet, this boy. Yet even he could find words--if only a pair--to respond to Phocion's story, though they were ones of encouragement, not wonder. He looked deep into the Mayfair's silver eyes, hoping to find. . .something there. What? A newfound fervor? The blooming of an idea?

Priests, missionaries, as he was. . .they looked for converts, above all else. Swaying others to believe so ardently in what they did was their ultimate goal. Could he look beyond it, if the fire hadn't sparked within Cortland? Could he accept so willingly into his fold a boy who did not believe, even though conversion was what he had come here to do, in the first place?

He accepted Cortland's touch with a small sigh, a smile coming to his face despite the raging argument within his head. Deep within him, beyond the rituals and the learned things, there was Phocion at his core. The wolf he'd been born; the wolf he'd always be. And that Phocion was never one to turn away friends, no matter who they were or what they believed in.

"It will be so soon," answered the white-furred wolf, his breath stirring the golden strands of Cortland's ruff. "All the signs point to it."