Northstar Vale are you scared to death to live?

alarian's question doesn't throw him -- it's the sort of thing he'd ask, anyway, even if he's been negligent in his duties as a historian lately. delight hms for a moment, watching the horizon as he shapes his answer, and says, "tindómë is scholarly." he pauses and huffs a laugh. "or -- rather, mato's vision was of a nontraditional pack that was home to skilled wolves in pursuit of honing their unique abilities, with hierarchy based on that skill level. he named us and our ranks -- druidic. a lot more druidic than me," he admits, a little sheepish. he's done his best to keep tindómë on the path mato set out for it, but he's never quite had the silvery prince's ethereal air, never quite mastered his tongue.

"mostly we're quiet and peaceful," the androgyne says, "which is nice -- but sometimes worrisome. too quiet, you know what i mean?" he twists so he can look at alarian, brow slightly furrowed. things have been too quiet for a while. he doesn't want to dwell on it though -- not in front of guests! -- so he says, "what is your pack like?" figuring it's fair to return the question.