To live as he did was to live without foolish ideas of romanticism. There was no room for mercy within him. The strong would survive and the weak would be crushed. That was the way of the wolf, and of the wild, and of the North. Anatole found these southerners unfamiliar and soft things, especially when they hailed from lands that were unfamiliar to him. He was, therefore, terribly perplexed by this woman and her behavior. She flinched at his voice and he fanned his ears back, showing her he meant no harm.
The scout tilted his head slightly as he watched her, looking for any proof beyond the strange behavior that she was in fact wounded. Perhaps that might explain her predicament. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said flatly. “You are part of this Tribe, even if you chose to live with a madman. I do not blame you for him.” Had he not taken up arms with men of darker purposes, though? The rogue band he had run with had not been one of gentle creatures, and he had seen this proven time and time again.
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