The morning was warm, with only a slight chill upon the subtle breeze that pushed through his windswept but otherwise silken fur the color of ink, reminiscent of the feeling of a lover’s cool fingers combing through the tendrils. The pirate walked with a purposeful gait, following the fading scent of a pack wolf, hoping that it would lead him to the pack in question, though he was left feeling as if he was not so much tracking to see him to a pack’s borders to barter his way into the borders as a part of the crew but more as if he were hunting. It was with the same sort of predatory grace that he moved hoping, briefly, that he wasn’t following the trail the wrong way. As it was, Cutthroat had a very vague knowledge of the Teekon Wilds having been born outside of the lands, having heard stories of the wolves but having never sought them before it. After growing up in this discord that was Tortuga he wondered how he would take to the told strict structures of the packs here. Calypso had supported his adventure, encouraging him to fearlessly explore and live among “others”. Admittedly, they were an extremely rag-tag bunch, rambunctious, loud and brazen as brazen could be, and in the stillness and silence (despite that the lands were teeming with life) was almost disturbing to Cutthroat. There was a calmness here that gave Cutthroat the distinct feeling of being homesick.

Yet, he could not return to Calypso so soon for that would evoke her disappointment, and though she had never been the ‘world’s number one mum’ she had done the best she could by and for Cutthroat with what she had to work with. As it was, she was (as it seemed most females of Tortuga) loose with her men - there was little doubt in the teenager’s mind that was how he came to be - but instead of abandoning him to die as others had done she had loved him, nevertheless. Of course, he was garnered with the sudden suspicion that her encouragement of him “leaving the nest” had something to do with the fact that he tended to scare of potential suitors but there was nothing to be done of it now. She could have as many a men as she wanted without Cutthroat’s intervention.

Just as he could live without her intervention; in hindsight this newfound freedom wasn’t exactly bad just …unsettling a bit. After about an hour of tracking the scent he finally began to near the borders, slowing upon instinct, mindful to keep a distance between the pack’s borders and his body simply because that was how, his vague knowledge (and perhaps instinct) told him it was done. Irises of liquid gold studied the lands in the invisible borders finding that they looked no different than the no-man’s land he currently stood upon, but nevertheless deigned to tip his head back and call for a leader, hinting at his interest at joining their crew in his howl before it ended and he waited with a refined (and perhaps unusual) patience for someone to come and greet him.

There was a moment when the inky teenager of a Pirate wondered if this wasn’t absolute suicide. It had been a couple days since the stand off had went down and Bones had ran off - similar, as Cutlass told it, to the way she had sprang from Tortuga the first time - with Cutlass and Corsair. The three others were dead at the paws of these wolves and though Cutthroat himself had only been trying to help Crossbones, having somehow managed to avoid the fighting in the mass chaos that had ensued. Still. There was nothing to say that they weren’t going to kill him, too. No matter what he had been apart of it. Apart of the carnage and the wrongness and now he sought them out at their borders seeking acceptance. He had to be mad. Mad and …guilty. Cutthroat felt guilty for coming with them to bring Crossbones back as if she were a small child in need of reprimanding but she hadn’t been. She’d been an adult, fully capable of making her own decisions. It was not fear that had kept him from going back with Cutlass and Corsair though, instead only disgust. The right of parley was always granted, always and both of the women had acted as if it didn’t exist outside their lands.

A black brute soon approached on the other side of the borders and just as Jace recognized him, Cutthroat recognized Jace as one of the first wolves from the Creek’s side to attack. No questions, no parley. Just violence. “Aye,” Cutthroat drew in a deep breath, figuring honesty was the best policy here though he was not so sure he trusted Jace any more than he trusted Cutlass or Corsair. His trust in everyone had rightfully sort of been depleted given the twist of events until he was left trusting no one but himself. “Look, I know I was with them but …but I didn’t realize they weren’t going to give Crossbones parley. I didn’t…,” He drew in a breath as he hurried to defend himself realizing that for all his bravado he was afraid to die and having seen what these Creek wolves were capable of he had no doubt that they would do it if they wanted the last loose end (aka him) gone. “I tried to stand up for her, to defend her.” The dark Pirate finished, not sure even if this male cared. Cutthroat realized what he looked like and darkly glanced at the ground for a few seconds, head hung in what was sincere regret. Granted, Cutthroat hadn‘t attacked for her but he had tried to speak up not that it did him any good or got anyone anywhere. “Cutlass and Corsair are lyin’ wenches. It’s why …why I didn’t go back with them.” Of course, he wouldn’t be there to continue to stick up for Crossbones but then again the two women would have probably just killed him anyway and he wasn’t any use to her dead, either.

In truth, Cutthroat wasn't really sure why he was here, why he did not seek refuge somewhere else. Somewhere safer for him, disconnected from the incident.

Oh, that’s it Cutthroat return to the wolves that threatened to kill you and ask to become apart of their pack, because that’s a stellar idea! The inky pirate thought with a venomous amount of sarcasm in the hopes of chiding himself for his own stupidity. Cutthroat shrank back as another - also recognized as one of the ones that had joined in on the fight that night - came bearing down upon him, nothing but hostility. It was well earned, Cutthroat knew. The newest male held an impressive growl, relentless, apparently relinquishing the necessity to breathe, Cutthroat thought with sour cynicism knowing this was no time for witty remarks. It was almost astonishing to the inky teenager how he could still manage wit (even if it didn’t dare leave his lips) at a time such as this. The fire kissed female that had attacked Corsair came barging onto the scene as well, reminiscent of the way they had all melted or rather flung themselves out of the shadows around the Blackflag wolves. She addressed him in a hostile hiss, filled also, he rather thought, with an accusation. Not that Cutthroat could blame her. Or any of them; and no matter how badly he wanted to defend his life - the instincts to fight or flight had began to hum in his veins - Cutthroat also realized that he had no right too. After all, what kind of idiot went back to a pack that had threatened his life? Obviously, it spoke unflattering volumes about Cutthroat, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

There was another death threat - a reminder and a command to explain himself. He lowered his eyes and wondered if facing this was better than facing Cutlass’ and Corsair’s ire. Now, he wasn’t so sure. For a moment Cutthroat wasn’t sure exactly what he was supposed to be explaining aside from the fact that he was guilty, and confused and that he was generally surprised he could tell his face from his bum?; gradually he began to feel the pressure and all that rode upon his words like a crushing weight atop his shoulders as three pairs of eyes looked at him as if he were a devil of the seas. Maybe he was. “I’m sorry,” It was too late for apologizes, too late for regrets but it was imperative, somehow, that he spoke of his genuine remorse before he was killed. “I know it probably means nothin’ to you. I didn’t know that …that things were going to happen like that,” But Cutthroat thought that really didn’t matter now because they had happened like that. “I guess …that I want to atone for it. For what they - for what happened.” Even if it meant his death, then so be it.

“So if it means I have to walk the plank to atone then do it.” By walk the plank he meant be killed, but there was something more comforting for the inky teenage Pirate to say 'walk the plank' then there was in saying "kill me if you must".

It was with a slight trepidation that Cutthroat tore his attention away from the two males that flanked their fire kissed leader to said woman. For the moment, he ignored their stares, heavy upon him, causing his skin to prickle with the ferocity of their eyes upon him. There was a stretch of silence that while it lasted, maybe, half of a minute at most seemed to feel like it took a lifetime or two, like the pulse beneath a bruise: slow and torturous. Fox’s words were not - he was briefly surprised but did well to hide it - a death sentence and not even a real proposition - and really Cutthroat didn’t deserve options since he had been the idiot to return to these wolves after what had happened with Bones - it was more like …terms of imprisonment. Something he knew well from growing up in Tortuga. Not all pirates killed, a lot of them took hostages until they got what they wanted and then let them go, or worst case scenario took them as prisoners.

Cutthroat only barely resisted the urge to correct Fox that Cutlass and Corsair were not his sisters (even on the terms of pack as she had meant it) and that he would rather die than be associated with either of the scurvy ridden wenches any further than he already was. Upon closer examination, Fox’s conditions were not unbearable and if Cutthroat was being honest with himself, probably more than he deserved. “Aye, Captain,” He agreed. It was only then that the teenager peeked up, wondering what exactly would happen next.

Cutthroat’s eyes, though he remained in a submissive pose, flashed to Ferdie, liquid gold and cold as the metal at the male’s demanding questions. As for where Cutlass and Corsair had taken Crossbones - that was obvious, they had taken her back to Tortuga where she had came from, what Crossbones had been screaming though no one but Cutthroat it had come to seem to the inky pirate had heard. Her screams of peace, of parley still echoed in Cutthroat’s mind as the shame and guilt washed over him. There could have been a much more peaceful way to get out of Tortuga but as circumstance would have it he had let Corsair and Cutlass charm him into aiding them on their fools’ errand. And while Cutthroat hated to be the bearer of bad news - and of this he did not plan to tell them any time soon in case Fox decided he was no longer useful to her and did decide to kill him - he did not think Cutlass and Corsair would be back for him. In reality, he meant nothing to either woman, even less now that he was more or less a traitor. When the fire kissed leader snapped at Ferdie, Cutthroat hesitated unsure now if he should answer even one of those questions and so settled for silence hoping that it was the right choice.

Fox addressed him then - at least he assumed that ‘you’ meant him since he was not aware of her name, nor they his, really - and his eyes went to her, obediently, drawing after her as she beckoned him to. Cautiously, he shrugged past Jace and Ferdie, unable to keep himself from wondering where Fox was taking him. For a few seconds he considered giving her his name but then decided if she wanted it, she would ask for it. At this point, Cutthroat had decided it was better to adopt to the ‘don’t speak unless spoken to’ rule given the circumstances that he was allowed into Swiftcurrent Creek.