[/html]Jerome had not been a fairy tale prince, but he had tried to be. He had been shy and awkward and unimpressive in almost every regard. He had been slow, had had poor endurance, was a terrible fighter, and a mediocre hunter. These pitiful downfalls had been endearing somehow, and that was proof enough that traditionally favorable traits didn't matter much. That their attraction had been puppy love at best didn't matter either. It could have been love, eventually. Cassandra twitched an ear when she stabbed herself with her needle, took a long, slow breath, then refocused on what Willam was saying.
"You don't think protecting the clan, sharing your skills by teaching, and other things prove your loyalty? That's contributing too -- your time, your effort. You don't need to produce something tangible for it to be a contribution." Indeed, children were almost the easiest thing to contribute. Any fool could make a litter of sniveling brats. Maybe the breeding would be good, but what parent could really guaruntee how their kids turned out? She'd had a perfect father, and that hadn't mattered in the end. It was harder to fight, to teach, to care. These were surely more worthy contributions.
"I don't suppose most orphans are lucky enough to find a pack in time to survive," she said, shrugging with one shoulder. "But Inferni must produce a fair number of litters for there to be so many Lykois." No where else to go. It seemed to be a common theme. That was why their kind banded together in the first place, right? They needed somewhere to belong. Not for physical survival's sake -- most were more than capable of finding water and killing enough to eat -- but some deep emotional need for company. She couldn't stand it. It was inevitable that that desperation would drive them all mad even when they surrounded themselves with so many others. The desperation never really went away, so of course they went mad.
"What happened to la Chemin?"
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