Lysander smiled at the younger male. Quite the tale. It wasn’t a tale or a story although he had told it as one. It had simply been the whole truth and nothing but the truth, a rarity when Lysander spoke but occasionally he was capable of it. “Not wolves… I’m sure you’ve seen that many wolves, why add these packs up and you have more than that many wolves… Dogs.” Lysander smiled, not thinking Ty had understood him completely and then with Ty’s next question Lysander let a hearty laugh escape, guessing that the younger male hadn’t seen much in the ways of dogs. “Part husky? Are you kidding? I’m all dog. I don’t have a drop of wolf in me…”
His eyes turned to Geneva then, wondering if she too had mistaken his heritage. It happened, when others weren’t accustomed to his kind. There were few dogs in these parts, and his arctic roots did give him some wolfish features, but he was dog through and through. To anyone who knew dogs, it was clear and obvious; his mother had been all husky, his father a mesh of husky, malamute and other breeds, but never wolf. Their father hadn’t even bred with wolves, although Lysander guessed that he and his brothers might have accidently put an end to that tradition.
Yet he did not mind. The physical differences, his broad face and over sized ears just gave him charm in a place where, to him anyway, so many looked too similar. Dogs came in all sorts of shapes and sizes, wolves, they were different but never too different. He smiled though, good natured about it all. Turning back to the previous conversation, and to Geneva, he titled his head, contemplating for the first time what it meant to live in a pack so small. “How do you defend yourselves with such small numbers?” Lysander had never seen war, only heard about it, but the deaths of war added up quickly back home, here they could never spare those kinds of numbers. War, then, must happen rarely, and if it did, never seriously.