Ouroboros Spine Behind every tree is a cutting machine

He did not, in fact, know what women spoke of when they gathered together, or how they spoke to one another. But he could take what Kukutux as enough of a hint that whatever they spoke of, was for their ears. Perhaps she had told the gentle painter more- but perhaps she wanted for Adrastus and the other males to not dip their ears toward conversations which weren't meant for them. So he smiled softly, amused. Kukutux had a way of speaking volumes, he thought, without having to go into details. It was as though she had thoughts which were plenty vocal- and yet she knew she could speak them there, without worrying about him knowing. A clever woman, with an inner narrative. It made him wonder what the women spoke of all the more, but it was not his place to know. Telling him that Lótë as well knew of the way the pack was to exist was enough. At least, then, he might have a better chance. 

He looked fondly at Kukutux, now, even though a part of him had drawn back from admiring her as he might an ocean pearl, in knowing she had chosen to take another into her ulaq. He'd wondered about it, and the timing, and it had brought him to become curious about her practices...And in particular, the state of mourning she had gone through. 

"I am not sure it is for me to know," He said, "But...Can you tell me about your mourning period? If this is private, or if it would hurt to speak of it, you can refuse," He assured her. He wouldn't take offense- but part of him had noticed that once her mourning howls had ended...She had moved on, at least in part. That, he thought, was something that if it worked, and truly eased pain...It might be something that more wolves should know.