"You know, pup, they say you are what you do. I proved them right, ancient ages before you, and made myself a beast like cleverer men make themselves smiths or bakers or soldiers. Grew fur and horns and feathers and fangs and fed on blood and that was that for me." Her grip tightened; not all at once but slowly, like the compression of a vice. That it was painfully tight would have been a slow realisation, so careful was she. And her attention, her gaze, were both unwavering.

It was very raw. Whole-hearted, as simple and earnest and forthright as any beast might be. Utterly without pretension.

"I'm an old wolf with chipped fangs, anymore. I've no need or want to fuck a knothole, nor energy to care for what world spawned you while mine withers 'round me. I don't play games or pretend to understand. But... You act as kin to me, you're kin to me. You give strength to me, I give in kind to you. No questions, no explanations, no bullshit. We might be different manners of beast, but we might all the same uphold the old truth: that the strength of the pack is the wolf, and the strength of the wolf is the pack."