He is not a wolf of many words though his mind remains abuzz even in his sleeping hours; he studies and listens yet he seldom offers explanation or instruction. He exists as silent as a shadow for many of his days and so, he makes no exception with this peculiar woman. Indeed, he finds her to be the opposite of himself, a wolf with many words to share and little hesitation in doing so. He wonders to himself about whether such willingness is a strength or weakness; he ponders how developing such willingness might serve him. He ponders and he listens, his lip ever so slightly pulled back in amusement as she delves into the life cycle of a river. Try as she might though, he thinks, but she cannot rise like a river can. That is what separates wolf from the water: those of flesh and blood will fall and never rise again eventually. Can they be replaced though?

His lips pull back in true amusement though when she mentions fear; he does not fear. At least, he does not believe that is the sensation that prickles beneath his skin. It is a sense of allure, of primitive fascination. He revels so very quietly in the warmth and the musk and yet, he is but a child, unsure and uncertain of these things. She crouches and he follows suit, slightly at least, his knees bending just enough to carefully guard his throat.

He ponders for a moment and then, he speaks with a mimicked grin; "you hunt," he states bluntly, his head tilting slowly, "yet you are backed up against a river; your sides are exposed; you pay attention only to me." He speaks matter of factly, merely observing his perceived flaws in her actions as she stalks back to stand more proudly now. Perhaps she has not asked for such observation and yet, he speaks freely of it, his voice uncharacteristically cautious as he ventures into more words than he has ever uttered before. Perhaps it is a new record. He is, after all, more prone to five or less.

She does not follow him however and so, he dips back an additional step, tempting her and yet pausing when he understands that she has taken her place for the time being. There is distance now however and so, he allows himself to rise slightly. He is unique from his family in this sense; he does not hold himself with pride but rather absolute neutrality. He does not seek submission nor domination but rather, he simply seeks; it matters little to him what he will find.

His brows raise when she speaks, surprised at her sudden direct words. He even grins, so small and fascinated, at her compliment. So, she does not see him as daft? Perhaps she has seen through his peculiar behavior, destined to see the way his eyes watch the world around the pair with startling eagerness. His eyes meet hers then when she is silent, and he allows his head to fall into a lazy tilt as he speaks once more. "Control," he states in response to her question, his shoulders shrugging lazily. He watches her face keenly after the word is hissed out with a tentative drawl; he waits to watch an eye twitch or an ear flicker, for her to pose once more or bend her lip in a grin. He awaits confirmation or denial of his assumption.

"But what," he begins to pose her a question now, "makes you... deserving?" He takes a short step forward, holding himself levelly to her (though always neutral in his display) as he watches her with such intensity.