Tithe

The doe’s life ended, and theirs continued. Unharmed even, a blessing in the event of two taking down a larger prey. Tithe panted happily as he let go of the creature and stepped back a few paces. Though he and the grey before him seemed to be on a similar mindset, the young wolf knew how to show respect and when it was deserved. He laid down a few feet away from the kill and waited patiently for the older warrior to eat his fill.

He would have never admitted or showed it, but the tones Sleekwing spoke to him moved the young man. His childhood at been spent creating a warrior that acted as a shield. Words of praise had been rare and words of fire had been frequent. Heat and hammer was what was needed to forge a weapon and a grinding stone to sharpen it.

Dark ears flicked to hear the warrior’s name and Tithe bowed his head respectively. The pleasure is mine, Sleekwing. Not as deep as the Castillan’s, Tithe’s voice still held the notes of honor, a smooth calm that was strong and sure. I am called Tithe.

For a moment he watched his companion eat and considered for a moment. A doe was more food than one or two wolves could consume in a meal. The other man was strong, that much was clear. But the world was full of things that would want to take this prize from him. A prize, Tithe thought, that was meant for something more than a single stomach. All the more reason for him to stand back and let those who would inevitably outrank him take what they are owed.

She was a large doe. He observed, using the obvious as a conversational segue. Do you need help taking her somewhere? It would be a shame to see your efforts be stolen from you.