Wheeling Gull Isle Fallen from God Fallen from grace

Would be wise. He agreed. No venom lacing his words this time as he simply sat there. Eye closed, facing the ocean. Later. Continuing his thought, he added slowly to his thoughts. Leave now and they'll all think you've abandoned them. This time his eye opened, glancing at Rhælla with a sideways glance, unreadable in emotion as he tried to read hers. Continuously he spoke as if he was not quite part of them. As if he was the exception; or just perhaps, not quite one of them in general, of her group.

No. He didn't put any thought into his answer, it came naturally to the once barbarian. All humor from before melting away, it was unnatural him - such bemusement didn't come naturally to such a thing like himself. It would be a winter like any other. Come winter he would be four years old, still without a mate, still without children, not that he was to blame anyone for that other than himself. Rosencrantz had made no effort within his home pack, or after to find a beloved. His eye lingered on the woman perhaps a little too long, still as cold as the ice from home; only now did it seek refuge out into the darkness that spread across the ocean. 

A winter like any other. He wasn't even certain of such a statement. Should he stay, it would certainly be different from the previous years. No mate at his side - but a pack. If they accepted him of course. Should old habits return, perhaps they wouldn't accept him around. As the thoughts plagued his mind, his gaze hardened as he stared out into the sea, as if he had heard something disgraceful. 

Why have you decided to create a following. His words fell a little harsh this time around, the softness in his tones dissipating as he lost himself within his own thoughts without realizing.