Wild Berry Meadow she the full moon, he the werewolf

wintersbane finds himself utterly disarmed as hydra greets him with an expression of delight. it's not what he was expecting — not in the slightest. perplexity flits across his expression like the flutter of a hummingbird's attention span: very briefly before he smooths it. he's come to expect the worst of the world and had admittedly anticipated something much colder. even so, he couldn't quite shake the uncertainty that lingers in the terse line of his lips; despite the curious perk of his ears and twitch of his tail against his hocks.

he watches as she draws nearer to him, offering him an answer to his question. she sought to see if it was true and he gives a sage nod of acknowledgement, figuring there was no need for him to verbally confirm it and risk redundancy. she could see for herself that it was, indeed, true. he allows her within close proximity, glacial gaze trained upon her as her nose drifts through his fur, contemplating her words of disappointment in the fact that he did not give a farewell. he tenses, but displays his trust towards her by allowing her this closeness.

he'd been her apprentice once. perhaps, even, they'd been friends. he wished her nor her family no ill will and did not wish to see bad blood between him and her on an individual level.

i shouldn't have left as i did. he admits, perhaps apologetically but offers no excuse for his behavior all the same. he hadn't wanted to be talked out of it, nor had he wanted to fight with vela over it. leaving her hanging and without an explanation was regrettable ( and far from gentlemanly you scoundrel, tori huffs ) but this was how the tundrian operated. he didn't give goodbyes. he just ...left.

ghosted.

he was good at that; had himself convinced that it was easier for everyone that way.