He prided himself on what he
knew. From the moment Agravain could walk, he would have been damned to not boast about his own pace; He would cut off his nose to spite his face, then brag to the masses about how easy it was. He had no qualms against it, in truth, aside from accidentally appearing to be more confident than he was when in the presence of someone like Dallas. Now, if there
happened to be one wolf or another that he would have preferred to keep at a ten foot distance at all times… Well, the ginger would have been that concept incarnate. Frankly, it wasn’t that Agravain found him to be particularly tedious - he was a nice guy all around, from what the younger
werewolf could tell - but, instead, that he found Dallas to be remarkably intimidating. Even in idle hours, the other constantly possessed the sort of atmosphere - at least, to Agravain - that sung of potential homicide in the event of him losing his temper. Perhaps it was because his father had often made a point of noting that those with ginger hair had their strands dyed that way due to their fury. Alternatively, it could have been because he seemed to have adapted to the role of a leader with little to no difficulty:
Lord knew that, in the event of some split or another happening, Agravain would have gladly walked out with Dallas - the one who could have potentially stopped an army in its tracks - than risk what would have happened if he chose the path of an insubordinate instead.
He wasn’t afraid of him.
But he wasn’t at ease around him either.
It was a strange paradox.
He’d bite back a
wince when Dallas spoke. It was a reflex, he noted, to try and shrink when addressed by someone bigger. The wolf life, it appeared, still hadn’t yet become a familiar sensation for Agravain. Time
healed all wounds, but what would it do to a scar that would never fade? To things that
silver could hardly contain, herbs dancing in his mind alongside unwanted memories? He wondered, if only for a moment, if time could reverse the symptoms of an incurable affliction. He knew it couldn’t. But, when his mind wandered so far down one path or
another, there were only so many possibilities he could have ignored -
Click.
His tongue met with the
roof of his mouth abruptly, sorting the thoughts away for another time. It would’ve been rude of him to zone out in the midst of entering the cabin, let alone when Dallas was trying to hold a conversation - ah, but conversations were still things the young wolf was getting adjusted to, and - as such - was surely one of his
less educated subjects.
He’d deposit the herbs on the kitchen
counter when he approached, curls bouncing on his shoulder. He should’ve tied his hair up for the day in the usual bun, albeit doing so would’ve given him a
small headache; For one reason or another, putting his hair up had become a bit of a chore lately, and - as expected - Agravain had taken a slight
break from it. He’d need to cute his hair sooner or later, though. He just preferred ‘later’.
“I found feverflew, and it could help with her headaches if she’s getting any?” It was a vain promise. He hadn’t studied the herb farther than its basic applications; It sat in with a strange
bunch that his father had neglected for weeks before even mentioning by name, creating a scenario that both worried and mildly
frightened the would-be wizard.
“Other than that, it’s kind of useless. Makes for a good tea, though.” A small smile was offered, and Agravain shrugged.
“It was a good walk out. The fresh air might’ve been exactly what I needed.”