Jade Fern Grove all that remains of you is a crackle of your energy

Eloquence evades him often.

She slips closer, phantomlike in her approach. Natjuk has never been keen on sharing space. The latest wolf to do so ended up bloodied with a vow to kill next they meet. The one before that had been a young girl and he - in his benevolence - had righted her wrong. Is it commonplace for closeness among rogues? He is beginning to think so. Doesn't mean he has to like it. His eyes harden with a furrowed brow. Menace hides in the shadow of his orbs.

He prickles beneath her prodding. Her statement invites explanation but her proximity suffocates that. As much as Natjuk thinks himself an endless well of patience, he actually isn't. When she investigates further, he withdraws sharply as if burned. The characteristics shown thus far compare to a serpent; all she lacks are its scales. He unsheathes his fangs, judging her with a harsher stare.

Reason sounds off somewhere within him. Still guarded from his prior confrontation with Rakk, he had judged her far too quickly. Unnerving though she may be, she has no reason to attack him. He pacifies himself, guard hairs smoothing back against his winter coat. His teeth shift back behind the black of his lips. Willing away residual agitation with a loud sigh, Natjuk looks upon his company in a new light. Tiredness sweeps across his portrait.

I am tired. Tired of wandering. Tired of pushy individuals. Tired of being hungry. His skull-faced company might take the declaration at face value. However, it is clear that there is more being said in those three words.

He sits down, resigned of his former wrath.