Ghost followed loyally behind Phiipa as she led the way back to this pack she called home. A place called Silver Creek. Habitually, Ghost was apprehensive about it. He'd only “joined” packs when his missions called for it and it had only been with the purpose of the assassination The Officer had sent him to carry out. There was none of that now. Phiipa had replaced The Officer and her warm and kind presence was something wholly foreign to the tormented wraith who trotted behind her. He kept pace with and close to her but he did not match her stride. She was his vladelets now and he was sure to show her the submission that he had shown to The Officer. He kept to his silence as they closed the distance between the King Elk Forest and the claimed lands of the pack she belonged to, though she fed him small tidbits of information as they made the trek.

It wasn't a terribly long journey, admittedly, and as Phiipa's pace slowed — the scent of her pack's borders gaining in strength the closer the pair drew — so too did Ghost's. He lowered his head to snuffle at the borders curiously for a second, analyzing what they told him before he licked his jowls and took measured steps back, withdrawing from them so he was not met with aggression. This part was easy — the words were scripted and beaten into him. Simply, instead of fabricating a false name and story he could be honest. Cold, silver gaze slid to Phiipa where it lingered upon the golden angel, waiting for the command.

He expected Phiipa to venture across the borders into her home but she defied his expectations and instead moved to settle upon her haunches beside him. Admittedly, his interactions with packs were limited and his focus had been on a sole purpose but this felt like something of a declaration to him — her choosing to sit beside him instead of awaiting her leaders within the boundaries of her own home. Ghost was not aware the extent she was willing to go to for him and thus was left to feel a mixture of puzzlement and admiration for her. In the stretch of what was probably an hour she had proven herself to him as an ample vladelets — a worthy successor to The Officer, if, admittedly, a kinder, much prettier heir.

He did not retreat from her as he would have another, having accepted her as his vladelets but was unable to ignore the soft shudder that slithered down the strong curve of his spine as she made to lean towards his ear. Her words were meant for his ear alone, a promise and an attempt at an assurance. Ghost did not respond. He wasn't entirely sure he agreed but it wasn't his job to agree or disagree. Soon after Phiipa's voice faded into the distance a pallid woman came to greet them. Her posture made clear her position as a leader but at first she did not seem to notice him, instead focusing upon Phiipa whom she greeted. Silver eyes took the moment to asses her carefully, averting his eyes when her eyes moved to him, studying him he did not doubt.

She inquired about him but as she did not address him directly Ghost did not speak. Phiipa knew (mostly) the need to knows about Ghost and he deferred to her until he was spoken to directly.

Phiipa played the field nicely Ghost noted: talking up the pack while also being sure to talk him up, introducing him as a “friend”. As the two women exchanged words Ghost considered the word. He wasn't sure that was what Phiipa and him were but of course he doubted Phiipa could tell her leader the true complexity of what they were to one another. Perhaps even Phiipa didn't understand it in full but for Ghost it was simple. She was his “commander” — she was what The Officer had been for years. The Beta, Laika as Phiipa had introduced her, spoke to him this time and his ears cupped forth, towards the pallid leader to signal that she had his attention.

“I am a quick and efficient hunter,” He began with, giving a pause to lick his jowls. The truth was he had many talents but he was not sure if they were any that this pack could use or if, for that matter, he wanted to continue to use them. Phiipa wasn't The Officer and Ghost acknowledged that his skills might need to be adapted to fit the “mundane” lifestyle of an average pack wolf. Something that he had not been in a very, very long time. “I can track,” He included and concluded with, “and I'm a extremely capable fighter.” He was a war machine, and those were his specialties. He was not forged to admire stars or know plants. He was crafted and molded by The Officer's paw to be what he was: a killer. Tracking, hunting for and defending — either on the offensive or the defensive — a pack was the only ways he could think to adapt his particular skill set to be useful to them.

“I suppose whatever trades will allow me to do those things are the ones I will put effort towards earning.” He'd never been in a pack long enough to earn a trade and though he was familiar with the word and their importance as roles within a pack structure he'd never put much consideration towards them. Not until now.