Hideaway Strath in the truly gruesome do we trust

Much to Charles' horror, the other dude started to explain in grim detail the exact differences between wolf and coyote while pointing at the skulls in question. Charles felt his stomach sink and he nodded through it all, even though he felt even more uncomfortable now. Maybe he really was the only one who was holding on to the belief that wolves and coyotes were all just wolves, and coyotes were just.. well, smaller ones. Maybe he was just dumb.

He opened his mouth to ask some bullshit existential question about whether he looked more like a coyote or a wolf to this guy, whether he was a scavenger or a hunter, but before he could it was as if this guy already sensed it and filled it in for him. Creepy.

It gave Charles the chills, even though the words at their core were reassuring. He didn't know what a 'dog hybrid' was at all, so all in all it didn't make him feel much better. He also didn't know what gods were. He'd never heard of that before. Were the gods the pack's leaders, Charles could not help but wonder, considering they decided who was in favour and not?

Before he could fully try to process the words, Vein asked him if he believed in the gods. Charles swallowed thickly. He had told himself he'd be the cool dude in this pack, and would lie his way into fame like he had in Firefly Glen. But at this pile of bones, and with the threats that Nyra had given him when he'd lied to her, his courage was faltering. I... I don't know what gods are, the coywolf squeaked, suddenly feeling like a little pup again. He'd always been the dumb pup in whatever context. He'd always be the one with lacking knowledge and vocabulary and skills, because his mother didn't teach him much. Only Leta had made him feel capable at anything. She really saw him. And now he was alone again, and suddenly felt like a little boy again, totally clueless and much dumber than anyone else of his age — which was practically adult at this point.