If he had known she worried about, well, anything... he would have crushed those fears. Quite literally, in fact. If any other wolf or creature were to so much as glance at her wrong, he knew already that he would not be able to help himself: he'd need to put them in their place in an instant. Be it his mother, father, pack or the entire existence that was Diveen - he'd stop them all. She had nothing to worry over or fear for, not even he. As much as he felt what was the logical part of him denounce her as, well, flawless, he felt just as much as of him nod in agreement with how perfectly suited she was. In fact, she was small, yes, but so was Siren. It would teach him to be gentle. She was pale, yes, but that just meant it would teach him, uh, some form of acceptance - probably akin to the acceptance he had of Istas or Ruvindra, that family. White wolves weren't all bad - they just have to prove themselves. Besides, she had some darker colours on her.

He could see her tilt her head in question, and he huffed in response. As much as he did not appreciate Paldor's withcraft, he wasn't sure on the intention and, well, he didn't really hate it. It was sort of that comforting feeling one got after a large meal, or when the den finally got adequately warm in winter. It was comfortable. That's why he wanted to test just how comfortable she was; it seemed, perhaps, that she was more uncomfortable than he imagined. That was not innately bad, though. Andras made his mother uncomfortable all the time - it was less a nervous discomfort, and more a cornered, caught-in-the-act discomfort. That was good, right?

He moved to get closer once more, reaching out to nip at her scruff and pull her towards him. He had ignored her previous words, accepting that they confirmed that it was okay. She did not hate it - good. That did not mean she liked it, but not hating was a good start. Of course, it seemed she bit back at him this time, her growl causing him to pause and retract away for a moment. Her words bit then. He was tempted to growl in dissatisfaction when she confirmed she could not grow larger, and he glanced away with a huff - a tantrum of sorts, really. But then she began her praise of the demons and that same dark grin began to peel back his lips as he turned towards her.

"Yes. Demons - Iromar - we make the strong stronger. I will teach you..."

to become one of us. He paused for a second in thought, musing as to whether or not she would be permitted to join them in the blood ceremony the next time it was performed. She had no marks, per say, but perhaps they could give them to her. She asked for his name, then, cutting of his thoughts.

"Astaroth. Your turn."

His voice was gruff, and then with that, he moved to nip at her ruff once more, turning to face into the mainland of the pack.

"Time to show you your den."

Or, rather, his den.