Tormented Tarns you got time to reconcile with your fear

Their conversation began with a sour note. His ears flicked back for a split second, not liking the tone of the man's voice. He's reminded again of Merrit — but really, any child. Because this beastly wolf sounds like a foolish boy rather than a man. But he doesn't let on that he's irritated beyond that little motion. Tulimaq could lie but he has not started lying yet, not to anyone he's come across. It seems like a good habit to continue.

I'm not from around here at all, he counters. The warrior may have been lingering in the valley for a few weeks of late, but it wasn't home. None of the packs were good enough for him, strong enough, nor did they have anyone of great skill for him to best. He felt like the strongest of the lot (and maybe he was, maybe he wasn't) — when in Tartok, he had been of middling skill. His lessons had mostly completed when he took on his mission.

I'm from much further north. To be honest.. I should've stayed there. The valley I've been roaming is full of children. Bitch, moan, bitch, moan. He didn't mind sounding judgmental, although it came off as sounding more like the sentiments of a crotchety old man (another resemblance to his grandfather he would likely never give up).

He clears his throat, and a moment later shakes some of the mud from his coat — and once the mixed browns settled back in to place, Tulimaq glanced over at his sullen companion. I advise avoiding the valley entirely if you value your time.