i'm sorry i can't be perfect

The dark coated wolf was about the age of his youngest litter, and the act of finding him here at a cliff’s edge was an echo of the past. Too much of his past haunted him. They were tempests, raging in his mind. Sometimes, the Warlord did not know why he did the things he did. He went with what he desired at the time, and here and now, it seemed right to claim this wolf. Mine. His mind whispered.

The stranger turned to him, taking steps away from the edge, and the Warlord knew he had him. He smiled, something that grew slowly across his muzzle. “Home, of course.” He said, turning from the wolf with a swish of his tail. He had chosen not to take the fall, would his curiosity keep him coming after the Warlord?

"Speech"