Northstar Vale tea leaves

Dusty Rose wondered if others saw him like this. Something about her evoked a prey drive in him, which was not unusual even among wolves — but she did not react as a prey animal, and he liked to think that he didn't, either. Were wolves frustrated, then? When he did not turn tail and run so that they could give chase? Were they disgusted with him when he did not make it easy to chew the marrow from his bones?

Pretender, a voice whispered in his ear.

Sabandija.

Little vulture.

"I got a girl," he told her. He imagined they were showing each other their scars. Was her life a war story, too? "And she's got three girls. They're mine, now."

Won from a wolf. He would teach them how to stand fawnlike in front of a predator like the woman before him. He would teach them that no wolf could look down on them. That they were the only ones worthy of judging themselves.

"They're wolves, though," he told her. "A wolf-dog, anyway. And her girls somethin' like it."

He was quiet, and then:

"Sorta feels like I pulled one over on her," he admitted. "Maybe just 'cause I know that's what everyone else'll think. I didn't, though."