Neverwinter Forest You can hide underneath me and come out at night

Dragomir was an immature wolf. A combination of factors had made him this way, but all led to him being uncomfortable in solitude, quick to pin the blame even when there was no blame to be had, and surly when things didn't go the way he wanted them to. His dependency on others was more characteristic of a wolf of four months than the six that he boasted. His troubles with his parents stemmed from his separation anxiety, which in turn stemmed from being left behind on multiple occasions by the both of them, to the point of developing a little bit of a victim complex regarding being left alone—so Dragomir knew a little something about immaturity.

His was nothing in comparison to the way Mal was behaving.

As Mal ranted on, Dragomir's eyes turned to flint. He couldn't remember ever feeling so unimpressed with another wolf in his entire life, and that was saying something, considering who his role models had been up until now. For the first time he was faced with a creature so undeserving of respect that he couldn't even manage to be civil. It helped that Dragomir was already in a rotten mood and Mal felt the need to insult him in spite of being outnumbered. His ears became sharp peaks over his head and his neck arced severely upward as he faced down the merle wolf and bared his teeth with an accompanying flash of his red tongue in a fearsome growl. Vercingetorix would have been proud. Never before had he felt a need to dominate a lesser beast by force, but he was in a foul enough mood now that beating down this fool if he didn't take the hint would feel mighty satisfying.

Dragomir wasn't a fighter, had never trained to fight, but he didn't need to—he had allies, and Mal was alone.