days of greys

Fate and Irony, foul sisters that they were, together had a rather morbid sense of humor. Had either of them recognized the other, the situation might have turned out quite differently. Standing before him was the very female that, not so long ago, Atticus had driven from the pack he once led alongside his brother. But it was not Atticus who looked up at this exile of the Plateau; Petrichor saw a proud and beautiful she-wolf, draped in lush, silver-kissed hues of mocha and appraising him with eyes of fire, and he was humbled.

He pulled himself up in a sitting position, dipping his head down low in deference to her authority and keeping it there as he spoke. Perhaps the only recognizable piece of his former self was his voice, which came forth in its characteristic deep, husky timbre. "I seek a place to call home, my lady." He suddenly felt self-conscious; his appearance wasn't going to be much of a selling point for him, and it was embarrassing. "I am hungry, and it's costed me much of my strength. But I assure you I am healthy and intelligent, and willing to promise my loyalty to your leader."