He had to admit it was still rather strange to be approached by a woman so unlike those that dwelt even within Glorall. If he had not enjoyed the company of Caligula, then he often enjoyed the company of, say, Rogue and her mate who were both undeniably mouthy, confident creatures. They spoke either with too much thought - as sneaks do - or with too little thought, their opinion on the world and those within it all too easy to gauge. Leviathan, however, seemed to have mastered the art of finding a medium; she spoke, yes, but it seldom eluded to too much or too little. Perhaps it was the newness of her that had made him feel that twang of uncertainty towards her; he'd like to think he did not feel such a thing over the mere blood status of a wolf. After all, that was one thing he tried desperately not too fall into. Moladion was already too concerned with family.

Of course, it seemed as if they both became more mutually at peace when they both lowered to be seated. It was, after all, a way of putting themselves on a more even playing field, so to say. Now, neither could easily make a direct assault which made him breathe out in a relief almost; he had to admit that he felt much too... downtrodden to deal with that possibility. Then, of course, she began to speak and his ears flickered forward, eyes alight with curiosity as her words tumbled out. Perhaps, he thought, he had been wrong, after all. It seemed that she had the same confidence in her words that Rogue or Vadik might have had. They were curious words and he nodded in agreement at several of her points; he knew little, admittedly, of the deeper aspects of Moladion's more lucrative past. Of course, he had been aware of Iromar's war, a war in which his own mother had foolishly competed in. Since then, it seemed there had been an undeniable tension among, perhaps, all of the packs. Iromar, now, was ruled by his Hand's very own brother, lending him the unusual predicament of needing to mediate between the Angels and the Demons.; meanwhile, his daughter had taken one of Isola's nephews as her mate. If he wanted to outrun war, he'd best disappear. The web was far too tangled now.

"I cannot deny that I am glad to hear what you have said, Levi. These days, many lust for power without considering the consequences. How pleasant to think that there is another out there who thinks first of what others consider the common folk."

And it was true; so few, it seemed, truly cared for their pack. Perhaps he had experienced bouts of selfishness and greed, but some five years upon the throne had taught him the valuable lesson that pack was, at the end of the day, merely extended family. What he did effected them and vise versa. When Ishtar and Isola had taken their wolves to war, he often wondered if they had ever considered them more than just teeth and blood to use. He paused for a moment, looking away in thought for a short moment before turning his attention back to her with a half-smile.

"There is no shame in leaving, either. It was a difficult choice for even myself to leave Iromar and my own family but, these choices must be made. We cannot always live in the shadows of others and their issues."

If he could not divulge much more on her own nephew's demise, then at least he could attempt to provide some sort of comfort. After all, that was what she was unknowingly doing for him - this had been, perhaps, the longest he had gone without thinking about Caligula yet. How strange and yet, it was somewhat relieving. With a tilt to his head, he inquired her, his brows furrowed ever so slightly. To think, they had dived into such a conversation and yet, they had not even agreed upon her intentions - not fully, at least. He felt... foolish and yet, it had felt good to merely speak as if to an old friend rather than a rigged stranger.

"If you have come here, then surely you must wish to see your once home? I do not think you bring us home, after all. I'm sure the sand has missed you."