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He hid nothing from Goldry, allowing this son of Valko to look into him without any indicant of vexation. While others would have seen this as a mark of rebelliousness, Vehiron could not be classified as the “others” – those whom swayed beneath their inherent aptitude. He possessed thought and emotion – the likes of which seem lost to Siku and Tonravik. But more significantly, he was genuine, unshrinking to lay bare his faults. If someone wanted to take advantage of these faults, then so be it. I am not afraid.
           Something made Goldry backtrack, letting the humdrum alibi of winter's approach trail off into silence. This alone caused unfeigned solemnity to show through his worn out mug. However, such expression was quickly snuffed out by the words that followed. Goldry joined Tartok because he wanted to do good.What constituted as good, though? Was this desire to do good from some moral standing? It was commendable enough to have a goal, but would this goal be enough to tie him to Tartok indefinitely? How would Tonravik react to this proclamation? He did not know...but she would not be hearing this from his lips.
           “I see.” A neutral acknowledgment, along with a neutral stare. Vehiron was neither with or against Goldry's reasoning. He was set in his ways, weathered by time and circumstance. It was not his place to speak out against Goldry, for the future was unpremeditated. Who knew what Goldry's time within the Tartok ranks would be like – if it would change him for better, or for worse. Vehiron would eagerly await that day where he was not so ambivalent in his ideals. However, he was no less a wolf in Vehiron's eyes, for he has been in a similar position one too many times, which brought him to the likes of Tartok.
           “I joined Tartok because no place suits me better – mentally, physically, or emotionally.” Vehiron got a little closer to the edge upon which his pack mate stood, looking down at the misted underworld. It was evident that the cogs in his brain were in motion by the silence that suddenly slipped between them. Abruptly – as if to reassure him – a breeze combed through his fur, growing in strength every couple of seconds. The mountains many caverns seemed alive with the wind, it's hollowness echoing loudly within his ears. The random zephyr died down. It was then Vehiron turned to Goldry, inquisitive and open. “And...I really want to prove myself.” To who, to what? He expected these questions, and he was more than willing to share...