Emberwood being born with a talent or an inclination for goodness is the aberration

the approach of another trickles down his senses like melting ice; first his scent, the sounds of approaching footsteps — then a presence. he only has a moment to breathe it in before the other is speaking, his own form still motionless save the movement of his chest. he doesn't turn to look at him, even when a frigid silence crashes over the pair again in the wake of the stranger's words.
"it will," he agrees after what feels like a lifetime, throat dry and voice crackling like dead leaves. "and i will replace it just as quickly. there is truly no rest for the wicked; you ought to demand a refund. i certainly would, but —" he yawns. "busy, as you can see." still he doesn't move to address the stranger directly, but his gaze shifts, straining slightly to see the unknown wolf from the angle he's at.