oath of silence

Speaking of his brother, that was a look that would have been right at home on his face. Iarlaith didn't visibly balk so much as an ear twitched and his head rocked back and forth as if it had never bothered him at all. With the same nonchalant attitude he pulled himself back onto his paws. "You don't believe me?" he said as he rose, stretched in just the way he knew would cause his back to pop (it felt nice, but he wouldn't let the kid know that), and his back knee—still just a little stiff from his little, ahem, sparring session the other day to add a few pops of its own. "Listen to that," his smile never left, "I creak more than an old tree. Wouldn't be any fun, fighting me."

By that time, his grin was so wide it swamped his face. He stretched, fore and aft, ignoring how his back popped again.

That look. Just like his kid brother. A little endearing, a little annoying, but never really enough to rankle someone like Iarlaith… and ripe for the teasing. "You see any of those really giant wolves? All grunts and rumbles, don't do a lot of talking? I saw one a couple days ago," he chattered on casually, all the while planting his paws under him, just in case the kid did try anything. "Massive."

…the kid was, comparatively, small fry. But that wasn't what Iarlaith was getting at. It was story time. He hopped back a step, whirled to face his shield, and in one surprisingly agile leap, landed atop it. His paws slid only a little on the cold metal; its old surface was marked and marred by time, the little grooves providing ample grip under his rough paw pads despite the snow.

He turned to face the odd-eyed boy again. "Even standing up here," his voice lowered, "They're bigger." He looked for any indication the kid still wanted to fight. The boy did seem all on edge, and sure, if Iarlaith had to, he'd oblige, but he really didn't want to fight a kid. That'd be asking for trouble he definitely didn't want, or need.