Porcupine Ridge Crafted, holy, rolling thunder

Dreven spoke of his happenings as emotionless as he knew how to be. Had they bothered him, he supposed. But it had been his existence and he had gotten away from it hadn't he. And the wolf that he was, the darkness that clouded everything, every single pore, thought. He deserved that pain now didn't he. He murdered, he kidnapped, he had beaten and stolen. He had done almost every deplorable thing that any wolf could do except one and that was something he would never do. you did not violate in that way. It was wrong even to a wolf with skewed morals like him.

Had she voiced her opinion of being robbed. Of pollution and tainted. He'd agree. Because it was, and it was why he did not do such things to wolves. He always sought permission, always. She was quiet, too quiet. And he knew he had probably just really screwed up her mind. But it was his truth, his past. Why should it bother her.

Dreven chuckled and moved his paw to press it to her head if she'd let him. It isn't that way. It's fine. I just need a warning and to relearn. And I'm a pretty fast learner. There was no pride in his voice when he said this, because it had been the truth. It was the truth. You learned to please to do what they wanted to do all the things or pain was your reward. Even sometimes when you did. But pain was fleeting. And it went away eventually. It just left it's mark on your skin.

He blinked surprised. And breathed out. I don't know. Stars. The sky. I hate underground.