The Templar Alderic kept pace with them, and Garrett paid him little heed other than to be certain at all times of where he stood in relation to Bethen and himself. Their little tussle outside had cleared the air between them, or so Garrett felt, since if he and Rick were both wolves, that would have been exactly the outcome, establishment of hierarchy with no lasting harm done. He kept an ear to Bethen and Alderic's conversation as they walked forward together, a motley little pack of three, to reach the Reverend Mother -
- oh, and here was a woman that Garrett could have sat near all day, picking apart the rich complexity of her scent. Age, yes, and some decay from that age, but strength and purity and a will of steel forged in the fire of her faith. The Reverend Mother was old, but no wilting cereus, no delicate flower to fall meekly before the burdens her station required of her. Garrett's tail wagged a bit in approval. The Reverend Mother, without saying a word, spoke a language he understood. She was a pack leader, an alpha female, and Garrett had been raised to respect elder females who had earned their positions.
A question of tithes, or at least, Garrett believed that was the proper word. While Bethen hesitated, the wolf bumped her leg gently with his shoulder, a subtle encouragement, before he himself padded forward to sit prettily before the Reverend Mother. He even bowed his head and put his ears back, as if silently asking for her blessing to be in her territory.