Hoshor Plains lascaux

The thing seemed to be curious of him. Of all the things Wolfram considered important or worth cultivating, ones curiosity was often furthest from his mind. He was not interested in the world around himself aside from what it could provide: food, the occasional shelter, wives or children as the season changed. He could understand being social (to a certain degree), but that brought images of the rut to his mind; of men cracking skulls, of women being wooed by their power, of herds reaching beyond the horizon — ah, but his old mind was wandering.

Alone? he repeated gruffly, his tail flicking at the grass like a small whip as he considers what the sky-thing has said. I have no wives, and so I have no herd. Would that answer suffice? He spoke with his dull voice, very matter-of-fact about it, but the tone was a bit stern as if he was embarrassed by the fact.

He did not wish to dwell upon his lack of companionship (it was a very private aspect for Wolfram) but the sky-thing had asked, and he had felt compelled to respond. It did not occur to him to turn the question back upon the osprey, but that self-centerdness was common among his people; they did not concern themselves with those outside of their own small universe.