Moonspear long in tooth and soul

We are not a sanctuary, and yet, Dirge found that to be untrue. After all, they had taken the likes of him in not once but twice, and both on the cusp of winter to come. If that hadn't seemed like a sanctuary then he may have reconsidered what the word meant, but then again he had never gone looking for a sanctuary to begin with. The world was irrefutably cruel at parts peppered throughout their lives and clearly for some much worse than others.

"There isn't anything wrong with being a sanctuary," he contested loosely, "but there is a line. I'd sooner take in a crippled mother and her children than the likes of a wolf with that thing; the former's less of a threat than the latter and notably more grateful." They would always have the use of able bodies, regardless of relation or ability. Even Nikai had his uses, three legs or not; Charon certainly hadn't seemed to be at fault for one eye, either.

"Either way the less trouble we draw the better." Keep out the collared wolf, keep out the talk of pale faces, and keep out the temptation to let budding hysteria bloom. He gave his head a firm shake as though to dismiss the thoughts that were gathering there. The children didn't need exposed to it—he would hope for them to have a smoother childhood than the collective sum between himself and Arcturus.

Joke's on them though; collared hounds were the least of their worries.