Fox's Glade silver basilisk

a furrowed brow lifted at her response. of all the sentences and sentiments he expected from a wolf, this had not been a scenario stigmata could have predicted. he understood her reasoning with crystalline clarity, even if he didn't agree with it these days. at her age, he might've felt the same way. as a yearling, he never would have considered "respect" more important than his residency. but this was not a boy - some child burdened by uncontrollable whims - this was a primed, adult male, and he no longer had any inclination to bide his time for anyone. let alone the incompetent.

"amusing or not," he rumbled without inflection; "suffering the company of fools for too long eventually turns you into one." let her make of that what she wished. he wasn't interested in airing out all of bearclaw's dirty laundry, especially via general prompting, but he wasn't inclined to lie either. anything she asked, within reason, would be answered candidly. "i served them through several full moons, and you see how i was rewarded at the end of things." he mentioned this in a way that suggested he was off-put by the hollow's acceptance of wolves who clearly felt nothing for anyone not blood to them, but in the next moment, the contention from him was gone and replaced with a slyly crafted expression.

he knew how they had weaseled themselves into lost creek. the same way they had burrowed themselves beneath his own skin and fur: using faces and demeanors like indra's to draw in unwitting victims. "they are a charming bunch, i will admit. it comes as no surprise to me at all that  your fellows took a shining to them, even despite the ill-treatment of their own packmate seeking compromise."