A sweet girl, she called his sister. Sven's tail gave a few proud thumps in recognition of this compliment, because she really was. Whatever bitterness might have been felt as a result of the adoration freely given to Attica was buried by the far sturdier cement of his desire for her to have this life, this better experience of pack and family and unspoiled love. Then, however, his age-mate caught him slightly off guard. Needed, was he? Sven blinked a few good times at her, trying to recall if he'd ever been told that before, in just the same phrasing. No one had certainly, besides his father in a grandiose, dictator sort of way, revealed that he might be an integral part of this pack. Sven couldn't help but smile at her.
Despite that, did Ravenna expect that Sven might be the one to stand at her side when that day of donning the crown finally came for her? He had to wonder, but dared not to ask. In all honesty, he was rather certain that most would frown upon his desire to possess the pack's throne so soon. Perhaps they didn't trust his age, his past or his temper explicitly. Maybe it was all in his head, a projection that would always separate him from those that knew him as a child. But whether Ravenna would tut or cheer, he could not risk interference in his ambitions.
So he kept his jaws shut, and again a moment of silence passed them by. Until, a test did come to mind. He couldn't help the mischievousness behind his wry smile as he regarded her, his intent surely clear for the clever girl. Would she bristle at the reference, or prove that she truly had moved past the incident?
"I'm always available for a tussle, you know. Been in a few scraps, even. I like to think I know a thing or two."