Liquid Amber approached him with laughter. Her steps seemed quick and she was far too close to him than he desired from a stranger. Instinctively his teeth bared and a soft growl warned her away. No son of Despoina and Eleanor was just going to sit quietly while someone came in too close. If any wolf backed a bark with a bite it would have had been one of their blood. But he was calm enough to issue just a warning. It was a restraint Eleanor may have been proud of. Despoina would not have hesitated.

His eyes narrowed at the white adult skeptically. Had she really never encountered the dangers of the murky water? A reality of life the pup took for granted seemed foreign and strange to his woman. He was incredulous at the thought. He lifted a head that would one day be handsome once his puppy-hood melted away and stared at her in mild disbelief.

They have a lot of names. He explained cooly. His body had not moved from his spot. The corner he had claimed was comfortable and he saw no reason to match this stranger and her energy. Some call them monsters, some call them ‘dragons of Iromar’. Often the more fierce, and occasionally stupid, warriors of the moors called them ‘play things’. It was not uncommon for the pack to come together and hunt the alligators that shared their home, but they did so together when they were intent on actually killing it. Otherwise the ancient reptiles and the wolves respected each other’s space. Occasionally a wolf would misstep and either find themselves in the mud of the swamps, too close to hungry teeth, or a young alligator would brave the land and a young wolf’s daring and the truce would be broken. In his home every step was fateful. He liked it like that.

Moms have said they are called ‘alligators’. They hide in the water by the trails. Avtandil supposed it would have been a good idea to give a straight answer to the woman. Enlightenment tended to be helpful.