Dragged across the finish line

Veigar wasn't sure how Ghoul might react to his confession, and he feared the worst. Truthfully being afraid was a cornerstone of his personality, though it was an aspect he kept carefully under wraps, covered up in spite instead. But he can't be overly bitter toward Ghoul, who had never treated him badly, who was a packmate and a potential ally to him, especially if he was willing to help train him to fight. Opening up was hard though, excruciatingly so, and he waited silently as Ghoul took in his words - and seemingly struggled with how to take the information, judging by his initial silence.

He wasn't quite sure how to take his words when he finally spoke. If Meduda still sees use of you, Ghoul started, and that was where Veigar's attention fixated all at once. Did Ghoul not see use of him, then? He felt his temper beginning to flare, evidenced by his pale luminescent markings beginning to glow brighter, but he focused hard on reigning it in. He focused on his breathing, on the things he could experience - the ground beneath his paws, the temperature of the air around them, the smells. Anything to ground him and keep him from slipping away.

"My other senses are fine. Better now, even," he admitted. Maybe his sense of smell, of hearing, of touch weren't necessarily better but he'd learned how to pay attention to those senses in a way he'd taken for granted before. "I almost think my lack of sight was an advantage during my first fight in the raid. When you're fighting, you often move based on how your opponent might react. But it felt like I caught mine off-guard because she couldn't predict shit about me." He was proud of his victory, but it was dampened by how quickly he'd been beat down in the fight following.