Larkspur lacked the size and grace to be silent. He always made noise, though he had become more aware of it as he hunted more and more. His size was his main advantage. This was why he did not fear violence from strangers, who often balked at the dark wolf’s appearance. Still, he feared simple things like fire. Yet that was not without reason and he would never be able to get past such a thing. In his dreams he could remember the heat and smell his own fur beginning to singe. Misery had saved his life that day, for as much as he had fought, there were simply too many. Yet her quiet, raspy voice had freed him.
This woman reminded him of her, if only because of her eyes and her fur. The red mane was unique, and he could not take his eyes off it. “Larkspur D’Angelo,” he replied. He did not move forward, unwilling to disrespect her space. This was something Misery had instilled in him; women often needed more space around men, finding them oafish. “Makes sense. I live this way, but from what I can tell there ain’t anyone livin’ here.”
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