Silvertip Mountain sun in the bloodied hand

Somehow, Ashlar stayed where he was. Tail curled, of course, and nervous as he'd ever been. But he remained where he was as Merrick's stare cut through him, sharp as any fang.

He could lie. The thought of it curled his stomach, though. In a way he had been lying since coming upon this pack, trying in every way to become something he knew he never could. He didn't want to.

I would ask them why. I would talk to them. His attempt to portray his confidence fell a little flat, but at least he did not stumble over the words. It was important for him that Merrick knew this, because it wasn't enough if only he did. He'd been tested a few times over and each time, he'd felt more and more isolated. There wasn't a single wolf here who knew him or had shown interest in attempting to learn of him, and he was beginning to realize it might be his job to tell. It was an uncomfortable place, to bring such attention, but it was worth it if it would help them understand.