Duck Lake little dark age

Skífa considered him for a long moment. His face was sapped of all emotion, host to nothing but the dense, steely-eyed look of a wild animal. No fight? Mentally, he staggered, caught off-guard.

Then the smile smeared back on his lips like an oil fire. "Fine," he agreed. "Two wings. Then you go. Catch yourself something else somewhere, huh? You'll live." His tone had lightened, much in contrast to his earlier low throttles. It could even be considered friendly out of context. Yet a little warning voice in the back of his head warned him this could be a trick, warned him he could be double-crossed if he let his guard down too much; if he placed too much faith in the bargain before it was settled. His gaze was sharp and cunning, still; still anticipating a fight.

But for now, he eased back and opted to trust the other wolf not to flee - to take just the two wings and disappear.