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The other's inner turmoil was lost upon the Icelandic man who returned to tending to the wounds he had caused, letting the wolf (for he could not comprehend calling him, them, a girl) lapse into silence. His understanding of the matter was lacking, and so believed that the wolf beneath him had simply had lost that piece of him. It wasn't until a question was asked of him that he would answer, Stjörnuáti. A pause, and then: Yours?

Zephyr, he was told, before the not-coyote-not-girl fell into a silence that he would not break. Wounds tended, the two would part company so that the pale Watch-dweller could return to his home and be among those who did not confuse him so.

Fade.