fear is the little death that brings total obliteration

It was a difficult thing, trying to make sense of the world around you when you'd grown so accustomed to the darkness. Veigar had been blind for long enough now that he was beginning to forget just how difficult the most ordinary things were for him - this was simply his life and he'd grown used to doing things a bit differently than others. Moping around feeling bad for himself over it and remembering just how difficult things were for him was something he'd finally grown out of. He could've either kept rotting away, all alone in his misery, or he could become something greater - and he'd chosen the latter.

Not that he necessarily knew what greatness looked like. It just sure didn't look like whatever he'd become, a scrawny, bony looking wretch. Though he'd been getting better at hunting and taking care of his basic needs lately, even without his sight. His fur was growing healthier by the day, regaining its usual shine, and he'd begun to fill out his frame again, no longer looking as ribby as he had for so long. For a moment he wondered just how he looked to this stranger; he didn't think about how others looked as often anymore, at least beyond the basics. This wolf was clearly male, his voice full and strong, making Veigar think he was physically healthy and possibly well-built.

He hummed soft acknowledgement. "That what you're out here looking for, then? What ifs?" He wasn't even sure what exactly Ronan meant by that but he could guess. Brows furrowed tightly, unseeing eyes narrowed as he tilted his face toward him. "You don't think any of that's worth dying for?" Veigar wasn't so sure he agreed.