Otter Creek You will kill or be killed, it's about progress

He does not blame the other for his suspicion - without that it is unlikely the blood-and-feather wolves would not have made it this far. But he is unfazed; if this stranger will not have him, if he fails here, it makes little difference. War is upon them regardless.

Argent smiles just faintly. "I do not believe I said I was from anywhere," he says, shoulders rolling, as if sharing a secret. He wonders if the other expects him to elaborate, and considers doing so for a moment, but holds his tongue, falling back into the reticence that marked his words before the companionship of those at Drageda eased his tongue. There is, after all, not much more to add - if he is not from Drageda then he is still the man who aimlessly spent the summer weaving across the Teekons following Gnarled Oak's dissolution. He does not pull more than the stranger pushes; the game is afoot for now.