Tuktu Weir I’m No Hero

Dakotas brows raise in a sort of good kind of surprise. Perhaps he could ge the other wolf to see reason. Dakota would rather not fight such a young soul with so much life yet to live, but of course, if he must then he will. The the canary eyes of the other gaze back at him, a certain way that’s says he’s always poised and ready to kill–like a snake–Dakota remarks to himself.

Then the mutt tilts his head when the other suggests that he’s like a fox. His face is contemplative; perhaps he could be, but not quite. “Hmm, I suppose I could be. Not too keen on foxes. They’re so vastly different from you and I.” He says wondering himself.

Then he smiles slightly, with a devilish gleam in his eye. “You consider foxes food then?” He asks, more as a joke, but knows the other will take it too seriously.

He sits down, the furry haunches and his nun of a tail hitting the snow. “Tell me, how did you end up so stone cold and ready to kill anything in site? Was it your pack? Bloodthirsty ruthless killers? Or parents? Perhaps a traumatic experience? I’d love to know.” He tilts his head. “I’d give the world to help you see differently.” He smiles almost sweetly with only a hint of biting sarcasm, knowing that the other was so close minded makes him laugh. It will ultimately lead to the wolf’s demise further down in his future; an early demise it could be as well.