Hideaway Strath There's just Devils and Dust

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Artok would have laughed his ass off had he known the she singer had called him kind or soft. He was none of those things. He was a barbarian, a jerk, a certified asshole. And he knew this. But for some reason, he had always liked small things, always wanted to protect them. Perhaps it was that he hadn't been protected as a youth and it had worn a very deep, very painful hole in his soul.

A lift of lips on one side of his face, showed his amusement at her attribution that he was kind. He had to lean forward to hear her words, but he could see why the War Chief had brought her hear. She had a musical quality to even her voice. And he liked to listen to it. Reminded him of windsong and river dancing.

We all must Revel sometimes, and I would say that is a good skill to have. You make other's happy. No?

He licked at his fur again, attempting to wipe away some of the gore. One because she didn't seem to like it, and two because if he didn't it would stain.