Firefly Glen but when i go to sleep at night, don't you call my name

Riley stiffened under Tiercel's gaze, his ears pinning to his ears when she parroted back his statement in a grotesque baritone. Was she mocking him?

His fur had a mind of its own as it rippled out like the spilling of a water resevoir; up went the ruffles around his neck and throat, up went the bristles along his spine. Her aspect was confusing, unnerving -- settling only as she put more distance between them. Was he a monster? His heritage certainly suggested so; his lip trembled. Was she a monster? She was certainly behaving oddly, and Riley did not understand much of the point of her monologue besides that she was perhaps demonstrating easily the intelligence gap between them. He believed her questions were mostly rhetorical, and so did not labor to stir his tongue. Despite his silence, he was not ignoring her -- his mind churned in response to her comments on parents, abuse, and monsters.

Was she someone who had been starved for love once? He did not speak, though she reminded him painfully of Laurel then.

Riley supposed he had advanced rather strangely. An owlish blink accompanied Tiercel's accusation. At last, Riley supplied another unsatisfying non-answer: "I smelled blood, it didn't seem good." Was he Lenny-level simple, or was he just a wolf in which easy conversation did not come freely?

He was quiet for a span of time that might have been a minute. His gaze had been studying the grass at her feet, but now, his uneven eyes slowly raked up her frame and met the burn of her sharp gaze. "What is your name?"