Ocean's Breath Plateau until his feet bleed and

her question, though wintersbane suspects is merely asked to sate her own curiosity does come across as rather prying. it is met with a non-threatening lip curl and a twitch of an ear. the beautiful part of being on his own? he didn't have to answer to anyone. he set and upheld his own laws and he didn't owe anyone anything, which was exactly how the tundrian liked it. "i'm not a pack wolf." he tells her cooly, affirming what she already knows. "why do i have to be scouting for someone else, hm?" he inquires. his tone is light, teasing, but he dislikes the implication that he has to be doing it for someone else and it shows in the hard glint of his eyes. "i work for myself." he's never gotten along well with authority and perhaps there is more of arturo fearghal in him then he would ever ( like to ) admit.

he realizes he's likely being an ass, and there is enough of manners left in him to make him feel a bit guilty about it. "sorry," he apologizes. "i don't mean to sound like an ass." he doesn't apologize with the expectation to be forgiven. she is free to take offense and to walk away from him. he would not blame her. "authority and i don't mix well," he tells her with a sheepish grin and a casual roll of his shoulders. "so, for the time being, i've taken to a mercenary lifestyle." he's got plans but he's a long way from putting them into motion, longer yet from seeing them come to fruition.

for now, wintersbane lives by the simple whatever the hell i want rule of thumb.