Wounded Pride and an Empty Stomach

The Warlord raised a brow, seeing plain as day the discomfort the question left in the boy. He did not like to speak of home, it seemed he had not left on good footing. Perhaps that was why he was out here, scarcely holding the skills to fend for himself. Not that that had stopped him. Seer had to admire the tenacity of the man, so determined to pull his own weight, to shake his head to handouts.

As he walked, he searched for signs of his companions' trail, hoping trouble hadn’t found them well he had stopped to speak with strangers. The words of the man distracted him, and he turned back to look at the grey-coated wolf with a snort. “Be glad I’m not, or I would happily claim you by force” he said, a small smile pushing past his elongated fangs as the Warlord regarded him with a calm sort of menace. He wasn’t known as a Warlord for nothing. There were few battles he did not win.

Luckily for Askan, he was more interested in finding his companions then taking offence, or he would make the man rinse his mouth out with his own blood.