How much is that doggie in the window (Bjorn sale)

His single previous encounter with a wolf hadn't eased his natural wariness of the species, though it had not gone badly. Distrust had been bred too deeply for him to be entirely comfortable with them around, and he had gone out of his way to avoid them. Not as difficult as long as he remained in the north, for it seemed few wolf packs were willing to lay claim to territory in such harsh environs. In the end his wariness had meant little, for wolves were as crafty and evil as the Teachings had claimed them to be. Never even in the depths of nightmares had he dreamed he would end up on the end of a leash in a slave auction. Despite the appearance of stoic calm, his dark golden eyes smoldered as he was prodded along by the damnable primate companion the viking queen commanded, and the muscles of his jaw tensed. He sat stiffly where it was indicated. His gaze was fixed distantly, refusing to acknowledge either the viking queen nor any of the wolves seeking to buy him. He stifled the low growl that threatened to rumble in his chest, refusing to acknowledge the proceedings even that much. If they thought that by paying this wolf bitch her price, that they would own him, these wolves were fools. They could put a literal collar around his throat, put him in harness to pull a plow, but they could not own him. He would be no wolf's pet.