take the victrola

The other accepted his compliment with humble grace, a quality that Kaniq had always found admirable but had never himself possessed. He was not a wolf of many layers; rather, he was quite simple and straight-forward. When paid a compliment or given praise, he basked in it, enjoyed it, and felt pride. He had never been taught to be grateful for praise, to give thanks for it, or, even stranger, to insist that it was unfairly given. Yet the earthen-hued male, with those strangely intelligent verdant eyes, did. And it puzzled and fascinated Kaniq. Those not of his blood always had, for he had experienced little of the ways and customs outside of his own.

At Lasher's assertion of his relation to their queen, Kaniq replied simply, "I am." A moment elapsed as he moved down the scree-strewn slope a ways to close the distance between them. He had never been much of a conversationalist, so he felt an uneasy awkwardness settle upon him for a moment while he wondered what came next. Should he speak? Or was this the moment to bid farewell and leave? Back home, packmates came to know one another through actions rather than words -- fighting, hunting, sparring. Yet this seemed hardly the appropriate time or place for such things. So, words: "Have you run with Tartok long?"