Kindness. It is not that I am an unkind being, it is more that I do not know how to express kindness. My skin is tougher than the average wolf's, my words prone to incite dislike with their curt mannerisms. Perhaps the way I think is a bit different than others as well. I am usually reticent with my words, preferring actions above them all. It is what drove me to strike at Tychon, to drive him here beneath the point of my teeth and inspire his rage and anger. He had stayed, though, so it also said something about my intelligence. I had surveyed him for days, the soldier in me making sure that he was the perfect target for the plans I had in mind. Daenery's had doubted me at first and Tychon had done little to sooth it. Actually, he had been the CAUSE of it with his rudeness and his tendency to violence. Yet I had come out the victor and, in the end, the Mercenary of Spirane. I felt content with that, sometimes pondering on the words that Viserion had once told me. That my mother had been the Spider of Spirane long ago.
If only she was alive now for me to speak with her. I am content with where I have aligned myself and the mountains have been my home since my early youth, preferring the steep slopes to the wooded area of Taviora. I did not even miss the gaping sky of Asteraia as how could it compare to the heights and the sights I had seen in Spirane? Often I felt like the mountains: fierce, immovable, and just as remote.
It is odd to me the way others approach their pack members with such open and friendly postures. I preferred to keep myself away from others unless the need for practicality called for it. That usually revolved around furthering my rank and proving my worth. Not to mention the need to do something: sometimes I felt a wild spark within me that craved... chaos. Destruction. It went wholly against the order that I cultivated with such precision. I am caught off guard when I see a young female heading towards me, tail raised, and for a moment I think 'SKUNK!' before I blink and realize that it is a she-wolf. Her white stripe down the back cuts not only into black around her head but golden fur and brass. She is a mix of colors, bright and dark, and so much bolder than me with my black, gray, and white figure. My coloring is... boring, to say the least, although her white eyes grab my attention as my own were of a similar color.
Her very presence throws me off and I pause, one large paw in mid-air and hare dangling from my mouth. Hello, she says, and there is such an innocence and sweetness to it that I blink.