Silvertip Mountain this i know: the snow won't fall on me

"Good," he responded back, smiling as Cortland groomed his face. There was silence between them for a few beats, and then his friend began to speak--halting and broken, but still. . .speech! Phocion was so overjoyed by the sound of his voice that he almost let the words roll right over his head, meaningless. It was only when Cortland had finished and there was quiet again did he comprehend the subject matter.

Oh. He pursed his lips, trying to think of how best to word this. He knew Cortland was young, but he hadn't realized he was this. . .innocent. "Um, well. . ." He trailed off, and after a couple of further false starts, he finally found his footing, at least somewhat. "Engel wanted to, um, have sex with you because he saw something in you that he liked," he explained.

Phocion nosed at Cortland's pelt, pulling back. "It could have been the color of your pelt, or the way your eyes shine when the moon hits them," the priest continued, giving Cortland a watery smile. "Or the length of your legs, or your figure. It could be anything, really. But whatever it was, he liked it, and he wanted to. . .um, enjoy it. Enjoy you."

Ugh. This was grotesque. Once a more bawdy wolf, Phocion had faded into someone who danced around the subject of sex whenever it came up. The desires of the flesh were trivial next to Fengari, in his eyes, and he had a hard time relating with someone who just. . .saw something they liked, right away, and moved to suddenly seize it. That was not his nature.