Ocean's Breath Plateau until his feet bleed and

lonely. wintersbane chooses to focus upon the word, playing it over in his head as if it might take on a new meaning. was he lonely? he didn't think so. he didn't feel lonely. this vagabond life had been his own for most of the short span of his life so far. it is comfortable. it is freedom and without anything to deeply root him to the spot it seems unlikely he'll give it up anytime soon. he can for roots but they are weak and fragile and easily broken whenever he's felt he's had his fill of it. her lecturing caused a spike of annoyance beneath the tundrian's breath and he does not bother to mask it as he rolls his eyes and lets out a low snort. does he look like an ignorant cub?

"i am no ignorant cub," he voices his thought aloud to her, offering her the reminder in case she forgot. "i fully understand the responsibilities of it," wintersbane huffs. "but who says i will lead it? i'd rather be it's tienraivaaja," the tundrian rolls off of his tongue like a caress. "it's pathfinder. a temporary leader when there is none, an unbiased third party observer when there are leadership challenges. not leadership but not subordinate either." it all sounds a bit far-fetched ( even to his own ears ) but surely it could be done if the right wolves were recruited to it. or maybe it was all a distance fantasy. no doubt she'll have words to offer him about it as she offers all of her other unbridled opinions. wintersbane appreciates candor but she is, perhaps, far too brazenly opinionated for a stranger in his books. "one day is likely a long way off." he finishes on the subject.

"no one will follow a leader that does not care about his or her pack members." he speaks, as if from experience. he feels like he has experience in that vein ( whether it was all how he perceived things or not ) "and no one should have to." duty and loyalty be damned.