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“I can’t cry.”
Lupa turned, looking at her pup who had been brought to her, a true wolf.
He hunted; he was strong, powerful, and proud.
He was gentle, too, though Lupa had decided that such kindness was a virtue because it was directed toward the pack. Loyalty, if Lupa had to put a name to it.
“Why can’t you cry, little one?” Lupa asked. “Tears aren’t a sign of weakness. I won’t eat you just for shedding a few tears.”
“I just can’t,” the pup replied. “Something tells me it’s…”
“Vulnerable?” Lupa suggested, wondering who had raised her pup before he came to her.
Lupa would gladly kill Juno for the pain her pup had endured.
“Pathetic,” the pup corrected. “And weak. Only pathetic ones cry. Real men don’t.”
Lupa growled at the lies that had filled her pup’s ears and mind.
She would find the culprit, hunt them down, and kill them, relishing their terror with great delight.
“There is no weakness in crying,” Lupa said instead, comforting her pup. “If you want to cry, go ahead, little one. I will take care of you.”
The pup smiled but did not cry, even though his eyes grew glassy.
Lupa gritted her teeth.
Lupa would avenge him; for every unshed tear of her pup, Lupa would exact a drop of blood of his abuser.