Silvertip Mountain daybreak

Fjall fought not to squirm under the militant inspection of greenmoss eyes. However, he still couldn’t help but look away. His ears fell backwards, uncomfortably, only swiveling forward again when at last the wolf had considered him enough and spoke again.

The wisteria of his eyes flashed back to the man’s face, his chin tucking further. He’d have guessed that the other wolf wouldn’t feel as he did about the wind, but somehow it hurt a little to find out for sure. Mentally, he shook the thought away, woefully uncertain about why he felt so concerned about the stranger’s approval.

Was it because he missed Ariadne’s approval that much?

He was glad to have his change of subject accepted. The wolf, perhaps just as odd as himself, spoke of “power” and “vulnerability,” and of looking for meaning in them both using what this vantage point could afford him. It was strangely philosophical, from such a bastion of physical prowess.

Fjall wouldn’t have guessed such depth was there, but he was not the type to judge a book cover. No – he was interested because he had glimpsed a single sentence of a single page and now wanted to read more.

Can I… join you? he asked, haltingly. I could tell you all about vulnerability, he added quickly, with a wry, nervous chuckle. As if offering this would somehow make his company more inviting.