A king? Oh my goodness. A king! Had she really stumbled upon the alpha of Glorall in the mountains? The lighness of his voice betrays his mild intention, but she is also aware of his capability. He spoke how he intended; had he wished to deceive her, he would have. He could have. Her tail waved in a slow arc from side to side behind her. He’d let her call him darlin’. She very much wanted to lick his face. None of that craziness she’d allow out today; he held the better position here and she didn’t wish to give away her attraction to things that could kill her. Grimoire answered his threat with a smooth whine in her throat; if he wanted to play the power, she’d play the powerless,

”I think Spirane needs its paws to get a bit dirty. They are so clean that their scent is repellent.”

Why did wolves roll in dirt? To hide their scents. Wolves had a musk about them that drove prey away in fear. And Spirane wolves? Spirane had the sort of cleanliness about them that made them untouchable. Untouchable reputations kept potential recruits away and cleanliness kept the fixer-uppers at bay. She felt flattered by his wolfish grin; for some reason, she didn’t think he smiled much. To be the influence behind it made her squirm. Her sinister smile became a girlish grin as she wriggled her shoulders back and forth.

The latin he spoke was velvety. It caused her ears to relax like they were being sung a lullaby. Grimoire decided that she’d hear him recite an entire epic in the fluid language one day. She’d have to see if she survived long enough to find him, but she certainly wished she would. He became close with his one confident stride forwards. She tracked the motion of his shoulders and the way he shifted his wait to one side to that he became weightless on the paws he moved forwards.

She tilted her stretched her nose out, a few inches from his own while she replied with coquettish intent,

”I'd say it deffinitly was.”

Grimoire’s girlish grin flexed into disappointment at the victorious howl. She stepped back from nearly touching Glorall’s alpha and gracefully leaped around him to the top of the rise in the path. There, she paused with one of her front paws raised at the ready to stride off again. Grimoire arced her head around to set her sparking eyes on him briefly once more. She had to leave for now, but she’d find him later with more to offer than mild surprise. She had a feeling her kindred spirit would appreciate a bit of entertainment. Why else would he be trespassing here? He must be bored.

She cantered off down the sinuous path, perhaps looking as if she were leaving, but she diverted to a trail further in the territory. The new alpha would have to be treated for wounds. That would take time, and in that brief period, Grimoire intended to find something to steal. She left the sage behind, maybe as a gift, but more because she didn’t want to turn her back to the intense eyes of a predator. She traveled up the mountain side and finally found her prize inside the defeated male alpha’s den; it had a small openning, but the cave beyond was grand enough for a whoel family of wolves. There was a collection of knuckles there on a flat headed stalagmite. They were neatly kept, and even showed signs of being care for. Impulsive as it was to claim something useless, she did. These meant something the former alpha, judging by the care they received, and she wanted to find out why. Grimoire sucked them up into her mouth and pressed them carefully to her cheek with her tongue to avoid choking on them. Then, she slunk down the mountain, trying not to swallow the bones… they were unnaturally tasty. Maybe that was because they weren’t hers.