For somebody used to saving his own ass and being utterly self-reliant, Danger was awfully quick to like wolves that treated him kindly. Sure he held onto a secret thread of distrust--if only to prevent himself from getting too comfortable--but for the most part the black brute actually wanted to be friendly. He WANTED to exchange pleasantries and act like buddies and help a brother out. It's just . . . his pack had relentlessly shoved his muzzle into the dirt over and over again. That made easy trust and fast bonds hard to come by. Could anybody blame Danger for allowing a teeny little blossom of hope to sprout in his chest when someone's first reaction to seeing him wasn't "EW"? Was it so wrong that Danger found himself wanting to shoot the shit with a male so similar to himself? The answer: hell yes. It was very wrong. Because this stranger was fishing for information and probably didn't give a rat's ass about anything Danger had to offer friendship-wise.

But Danger didn't know that. So he sighed sympathetically with the quiet newcomer and let his guard down a little lower. "I hear that, buddy." the dark dog muttered. Nothing worse for a wolf than to be trapped in an unsafe environment. Packs were supposed to be strongholds of security and support--not painful prisons. What on earth had this other gladiator been through? His voice sounded strained and nervous to Danger's sensitive ears, portraying years of agony and fear. Had he been tortured? Forced into horrendous situations? Were his alphas abusive? Whatever the case, Danger knew better than to pry; after all, the shadow-born monster would shrivel up into a crisp if anybody ever pressed on his case. You had to let people protect their own pasts.

"Well Greyjoy, I think you'd like it here. The wolves are . . ." Suddenly Danger was at a loss for words. He'd only ever met two Bright Moon residents: Lord Darcia and that terrifyingly snarky lass Iso. They hadn't killed him on sight, but they also hadn't exactly rolled out the welcome carpet . . . or even tried to check up on Danger once he'd been admitted into the territory . . . wow. It struck Danger out of nowhere that this pack may in truth be something of a ghost town, more of a collection of loners doing their own thing than a tight-knit family. That suited the inky soldier just fine, obviously, given his pathetically antisocial nature--but what if that wasn't what Greyjoy needed? Or worse: what if Danger misrepresented Bright Moon and pissed Darcia off? The spooky King wasn't up his subject's arses, yet Danger suspected his Ruler would certainly not appreciate an idiot driving off recruits. THE PRESSURE!

"The wolves are fine," Danger finished lamely. How could he put this so Bright Moon didn't look like the worst place on earth? He'd only been here what, a few days or something? He was the LAST person qualified to talk about this kingdom. "It's . . . peaceful here." As in "you might not run into a packmate for a week" peaceful. "Bright Moon is pretty low-key. No drama or whatever. Um . . . Darcia's cool?" SHIT! That last part wasn't supposed to come out as a question! "I don't think he's a tyrant, or anything. He's a little distant. But not in a bad way." This was the most Danger had spoken to another wolf in ages. It was like he'd been struck with a horrible case of word vomit. In an effort to save his pride, Danger bit the side of his mouth and shut up, gaze directed even more to the ground than before. What was he supposed to do this time? Invite the stranger in?