For the Love of Poem

It was difficult not to warm to his rough hewn humor and soft edges. Theo couldn't help but crack a grin. No, Poem certainly wasn't made for eating hearts at all. Theory tried to remember a time when she had ever watched her sister be needlessly violent and failed. Poem was a valiant warrior. She was not cruel. "Yes, she's certainly pretty," she conceded. Although it was easy to admire Poem and Motif from afar, she wasn't able to reconcile her own self as any kind of attractive - just that she was related to them, and by extension, must be doing okay. But they were lovely, perfect, incomparable creatures. Of course Poem had this gentleman admirer, it just made sense.

She peered around his shoulder to the sack he had brought. Ah, a crafter! They could always use some more cunning wolves in their ranks. Their numbers of healers, hunters, and warriors were steady and didn't seem to waver. Plus, most of those roles had some interchangeable skills. Most wolves had rudimentary knowledge of the three primary skills - after all, everyone to feed, defend, and soothe themselves - but crafting was another thing entirely. It took a special kind of grit to be truly good at it. Theo's mouth watered a bit at the thought of mead. The recent festivals had made her develop quite a taste for it. "What pack couldn't use more stories, happiness, and song?" she murmured aloud in agreement. He was a good man. He seemed like a good man, she checked herself. Theory was ready with her approval but would wait to form her final opinion until she was able to watch them together. "I'm grateful for your choice. Come, let me show you around. You'll have to tell me how you plan to spring this on her," she grinned, standing up slowly and gesturing deeper into the pack's land. There was much to discuss!