fear is the little death that brings total obliteration

If Veigar was anything, it was observant - without sight he had to be. He couldn't justify not paying attention to the details some wolves easily overlooked, or maybe just didn't care about at all. Like the biting tone Ronan had taken on suddenly, not that he'd been overly friendly to begin with, but it seemed his patience was wearing thin... even without Veigar trying to grate on him at all. He'd just been talking, trying to pretend like he was any other wolf wandering across these dunes. Ronan's reaction to his presence was interesting, if nothing else.

He personally had lost too much to not want to wonder what else there could be out there, even if he'd grown hardened and cynical enough to not expect much more than what he'd already experienced. Maybe someday he'd find something though that would give him some insight into the darkness that had once plagued the land, that had stolen his sight from him. Or maybe he'd find nothing at all. In the end, he wasn't sure it mattered either way.

"Mm," he mumbled plainly, acknowledging the stranger's words but not really bothering to respond to them. "Not sure it's any of your business what my pack might gain or not gain by me being out here. Though I guess it isn't my business why you're here either." Though Ronan could've said as much if he had a problem with the question. Veigar very nearly cracked a grin, though it seemed verging on an expression of aggression rather than friendliness. Strange, like so many of his movements and expressions tended to be, often just not quite right.

"I don't think much about risks these days. Either I'll die or not," he said plainly. He had every intention of living, which was why he'd crawled out of his pit of self-loathing and misery after wallowing in it for so long, but he didn't tend to think his fate was entirely in his hands. The long night had taught him that much. "It'll take a lot more than some sand to finish me off," he sneered after a moment.