The morning was warm and humid, the air thick with the moisture it held, though Cutthroat could not determine the exact position of the sun given the thick obscuring clouds that seemed to keep the blazing orb out of the inky teenager’s view. There was a part of the Pirate that felt weird about leaving Fox’s den - of which he was obligated to share with her so she could keep her eye upon him for though he wore the rank of Sigma he also mentally tacked on Captive because essentially that was what he was in less fancy wording. Fox’s captive. Of course it was more desirable than being a lifeless body in the sea, admittedly, as Cutthroat had first feared he might end up as. Even Cutthroat had to admit that it was no less than he deserved given what he had done. He did not fancy telling any of them that he highly doubted Cutlass and Corsair would be back for him - for a slew of reasons: treason being the primary, secondarily, he didn’t mean that much (if anything really) to either woman, and thirdly, they had no doubt learned from their mistake from the incident with Crossbones. So, no, he did not gather that they would be back and even on the slim chance that they decided too they would not bring Crossbones back with them. Cutthroat was dispensable, easily replaced by the next well built, handsome lad that came traipsing their way.

No, Cutthroat had no intention of spilling those facts or opinions to anyone, any time soon. Not because - though he couldn’t be sure - he got the distinct feeling that was the only reason Fox was bothering to keep him around because she hoped to use him to get Crossbones back; but alas, his hands were tied - there was nothing he could do for either woman. Golden eyes the color of liquid treasure studied his surroundings with muted curiosity as he moved through the lands, salmon pink tongue flicking out to lick the excess blood from his breakfast free from the shorn hairs of his muzzle and lips, before he yawned wide, ears slicking back to his skull and teeth crashing together with sharp little clicks. Despite that he probably should have had nothing but his guard up at all times he slept fairly well considering that he was at Fox’s mercy while he slumbered so near to her.

If circumstances were different, Cutthroat realized with a relative ease (and according sheepishness) that he really wouldn’t have minded sharing a den with the fire kissed leader. She was nothing sort of stunning with the brilliance of her fur, her slender and femme features. However, circumstances were what they were and the Pirate did not think his Captor would be very appreciative of his flirting.

Cutthroat had not made any moves to escape, but also felt the weariness of not being really able to leave the lands claimed by Swiftcurrent Creek in his bones; being a adventurer he wanted to get out and explore and yet he viewed the scent markers that warded off trespassers as heaven touching iron bars keeping him caged in. That left his days with doing whatever he was ordered to do, or just wandering aimlessly as he did that morning, though in simpler terms Cutthroat was enjoying just stretching his legs, and reminiscing about the Sea whose gentle roar and salty brine he found that he missed now that it was no longer a constant in is life.

It was funny what you took advantage of, only realizing what you had until it was gone.

Cutthroat had became lost in the catacombs of his thoughts as he moved, errantly, through the confines of his cage the copses of trees that was leading the way like some invisible map to the creek in which the pack was named for, in an ‘x’ marks the spot fashion. He thought of Calypso, wondering with a quicken of breath and beats of his heart within his breast of Cutlass or Corsair would think to take his misdeeds and traitorous actions out upon her. Calypso hadn’t done it, of course, but what if they fancied ‘guilty by association’. His mother had never been ‘worlds number one Mum’ by any stretch of the imagination but she had loved him and took care of him, and despite her carnal-wiles that had left Cutthroat irritated and ready to chase off any man who came parading around with his arm candy and proceeded to order Cutthroat about as if he were a small child, or their son (which always seemed to have happened) but Cutthroat loved her as a son loved his mother, with a pinch of exasperated affection. Though the wolves of Tortuga claimed that he was, in the aspect of color a carbon copy of her coat, bluish black the color of the richest ink, complete with her stunning golden irises, he was never mistaken for her. Despite how he shared his mother’s coat and eyes he was often told he could, easily, be mistaken for Ateer, bearing the same chiseled frame, the same roguish handsomeness that seemed to have been spun straight from an eighteenth century based romance novel.

Cutthroat had never known Ateer and was fairly confident that likewise, Ateer had never known him, but he had known his mother well and could not bear the thought that she might be suffering for his actions. Not that, granted, he was in any sort of power to do anything. Though he was nicely titled with the rank ‘Sigma’ he understood that it truly meant ‘Captive’. He had been willing, and perhaps, daredevil stupid enough to return to these wolves after what he had done, what he had allowed and been apart of.

Cutthroat told himself he was atoning for it, but thus far, he had yet to feel liberated from his guilt.

He stopped short (it seemed he would not be making it to the creek after all), his thoughts shattering into shimmering and cutting shards like glass, when a low woof announced the presence of an admittedly stunning fair creature, dressed in ivory, he saw as he allowed his golden irises to flit across her in a manner that was muted appreciation before he shifted his stance into a obediently submissive one she asserted her dominance over him. Cutthroat recognized her from that night, too, though it was only now he allowed himself to truly see her. She had been the one to end Killick’s life, he recalled with an impressed coloring to his thoughts. What was with all the women of this Creek that he had seen thus far being so damned attractive?

It should have been a sin, the pirate thought begrudgingly as he diverted his eyes away from her, waiting for whatever was about to come next.