The young male is not intimidated by her which relieves her and she sets her haunches to the ground while watching him with that gentle expression on her face. Forest green eyes watch each nuance of his face, each twitch of his tail as he begins to grow used to her calming presence. At least, that is what her mother used to say. Oh Sorcha! How calm you are and sweet. If only all in this world were like you then life would be a grand adventure! It still was, really, yet she had felt the coarseness of darkness as it edged into the world screaming and yowling. Slinking and coiling. The world warned her away from such evil and Sorcha, wisely, listened. Kind though she was she is no fool.

Whatever his status in the pack it was clear the boy felt a sense of protection in his surroundings given by his relaxed mannerisms and she found him incurably polite, much to her pleasure. The light that sparks in his eyes at her mention of stories has her ears pricking forward and her obsidian tail fluffing around her delicate paws, a knowing smile on her maw as her lips began to plan the magnificent stories she would tell.

"It is a pleasure, Rhaegal," she replies with a slight dip to her tapered maw. Her ears flicked around as the sound of his mother rose into the air and Sorcha, in turn, lifts hers with a singing song of her own to assure the mother that her child was alright and that Sorcha was here waiting for the Queen to arrive. As soon as her lilting melody breaks off her eyes turn to the boy, now to be known as the Prince, and she smiles brilliantly at him, in cahoots with his eager grin. "Certainly, Prince Rhaegal. Lets see..."

"A long time ago, before the moon hung sad in the starlit sky and before the sun spun ever further out of reach of it's dark lover, there lived a wolf as mighty as ever was. This wolf was magnificent, with fur shining as black as the night and eyes as golden as the sun, a mix of both; he was large, far larger than any wolf you or I have ever seen, and his life was charmed. With a mate as bright as newly fallen snow and eyes as blue as the deepest ocean, he was lucky, for all the others loved him. They followed him, his pack, and it would seem that he had all the world to look forward to...

Except this wolf, Brawm, he was not happy, Rhaegal. He had everything and yet he looked off the peaks of the highest mountains to the other side and saw a golden female, Lyra, who had just come to adulthood and shone with beauty and health. She was the princess of the land and he was the King of his own, yet he wanted it all. Despite having a mate as beautiful as the heavens or as sweet as mountain spring water he climbed over the mountain and set out to capture the love of Lyra, leaving his own mate to her grief and his pack in shambles.

For many moons he sought to woo Lyra with kind words and whispered secrets and she giggled and fell into his trap despite the worried looks of her own kith and kin. So it was that the two became a mated pair and Brawm felt contentment.. for a time. Yet he did not like not ruling the lands of his mate and set out one morning to fight her father for the right to rule. Lyra, distraught, begged him to stay his paw, offered to escape over the mountain with him to his old lands. There they could build a life together - but Brawm was consumed by lust and desire and greed, and he turned his eyes from his beautiful mate and began a battle that could only end in pain.

Brawm slew Lyra's father, the King, and her mother cast herself into a raging river in her grief. Furious at her mate, Lyra ran away and over the mountains to the home he had once ruled and there she found her sorrow eased by the touch of Brawm's old mate, who had taken up the mantle of leadership, refused him entrance to retrieve his mate. "You have destroyed all that you have claimed to love, all for greed and power, and now you will know what it is to be left without."

He was stricken as he watched the world turn away from him. The wolves he had once ruled threatened him, the mates he had once loved hated him, and the world grew dark with despair until Brawm fell into a death sleep high in the mountains. Great and mighty he might be, Rhaegal, but prince, king, or pauper, we must always remember to cherish what we love and to never let greed rule us."

Perhaps it was not as adventurous a tale as Rhaegal had hoped, more of a learning one, and she sat back with a sigh of breath, satisfied at her words to watch how he might react.