Hoshor Plains Be Careful making wishes in the dark

a small incredulous noise akin to a laugh — absent any and all mirth — passes arktos' lips. pardon? the question is low pitched, dark; less of needing it to be repeated but as a challenge to say it again. he stands, tense and bristling; a wolf version of a man with a booted foot propped against the bottom beam of a wooden fence, gaze steady and hooded by the cowboy hat on his head.

protective of the bison herds — and the horse herd though their status with the horses was still shaky at best — he takes the words entirely at their face value.

if there were words hidden beneath arktos did not glean them.