Neverwinter Forest Places far away and we're not you and me, but

His head snapped fully in her direction when she made a grab for his tail, but when her teeth didn't pierce his skin, he turned his gaze pointedly back toward the woods. If he breathed a tiny sigh of relief when she let go, that was his business.

"Yes," he agreed. Solharr could bring his traditions from the north. He could bring his gods and his religion. But he could not make these waters sacred. He could not grant them the ability to heal. And, inwardly, Catamaran doubted that the gods moved with the wolves that worshipped them. Catamaran doubted there were gods at all.

His head turned more sedately, this time. He stretched his paws before him, still balancing on the log, and laid cheek against them, muzzle turned obliquely toward his body. He had a good view of her, then.

"He must establish himself in this place," he said, sharing his own theory. "This pack respects him as king. Other packs might respect him better as king of a sacred, healing wood."

Catamaran had rarely had to lie to get his way, but he was familiar with the tactic. He held no grudges against liars, thus far — only double-crossers. If Solharr wanted to be king of a holy place, Catamaran supposed there was nothing to do but make one. That was fine. But he would be taking no part in such things. Only to Seastorm would he speak the truth.

For now.