Sun Mote Copse sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions

"Romantics, eh? Those authors," Wraen mused and smiled. Every time she felt as if she had seen it all in the world, it still had things to surprise her with. Therefore she had accepted the fact of her own lack of knowledge and was open to everything new. To think that this boy had generations of ancestors that spoke in a different tongue and had a culture of singing, was amazing. Truly.

"I like music, but I am the worst singer in the world myself," she finally said, wondering, if she had stated it to him earlier or not. "I have met some wolves which preferred poetry to story-telling. It is kind of thinking, yet there is no melody and the music is in the words," this was a statement that contradicted itself, but she had no better way of explaining it.

"What would you like to hear a story about?" she asked. "A deal is a deal and I owe you one."

She talked with the boy for the next half an hour and then let him have his rest.