Tithe

The fallen king had only started to truly become relaxed in his place on the ground when the wind shifted to bring something to his attention. Silvery iron coated eyes opened and hardened in the instant they met a pink stare. In that second his teeth bared threateningly. This was the only home he had left to him, and she had intruded upon it without greeting or welcome. He cooled the flash of temper as quickly as it had come. He was not the violent wolf who had ripped into Daenerys, or so he hoped. The protecting visor fell again over his face and he looked blankly after the female, still trying to calm his instinctive anger. She moved to place something on the ground. His heart quickened when he realized what it was. His paws longed to feel them between his pads once again. As she stepped away he jumped forward to snatch it up.

One glance was cast after her retreating body. With eyes narrowed he returned the one bone to his den. Hesitating a minute he dug a small hole and buried the knuckle in the dirt. At the very least he would have that one. Then he moved back out and followed the female, picking up each and every bone she placed and carried them with him.

He had missed them, just as he missed his bats, his old den, and his home amongst the mountains. These bones, insignificant to the world around him were a tie and a chain, a painful bandage to the wounds he still carried. At last he looked at the paws of the dark woman sitting before him. Curious, he placed the pieces he had collected at his own paws and sat before her as well. As habit and nature dictated, he sat with calm and companionable ease, his poise as smooth as the shielded face he wore. The Tithe of the past clashed with the harshness that had been stirred within him. No friendly greeting came from his lips. Where did you get these? It was very nearly a growl.