The forest of blood and feathers is not far from the Caldera, but Étoille has the sense to not blindly plunge in. He has been away from Drageda long enough that the scent has long since faded from his fur and he has bathed himself in mud and snow to try and remove any lingering scent of the Caldera's alphas. To the outside eye he looks like, hopefully, any other mangy loner, albeit a well-fed one. 

 There is not much of a plan beyond find out what he can. He knows they are specifically looking for a man named Cicero, though the rest of their lot is to pay for their sins when Drageda returns. The Rauna does not come directly from the direction of the Caldera, but loops around, monitoring the line of the forest as he makes his way East. It seems quiet, peaceful, un-noteworthy but for the persistent smell of blood. From what he does not know.

 He finds a creek on the Eastern corridor and pauses to take a drink. There is a thin layer of ice he cracks through, then lifts his head, considering his options. He does not think it wise to approach the borders openly, though he could pass off, perhaps, as a loner seeking winter's shelter... hm. Taking advantage of the quiet before the storm, Étoille considers the best course of action.

 It seems he has let himself stray too close for he is quick to be intercepted. Étoille wonders if this is the so-named Cicero, this large beast marked by an impossible to miss scar across his face. He certainly fits the part visually of a dastardly kidnapper, but the man does not assume one way or another yet.

 Étoille is not a particularly clever man but he is in essence a blank slate, and so oddly his nature serves him well in this regard. The presence of the snarling boy does not unsettle him (his confidence, though likely to get him maimed eventually) and he does not worry about lying or passing himself off yet. He is not trying to infiltrate, merely gather information, though ultimately he has no real plan yet. 

 The titan dips his head politely, expression unbothered by the display of aggression. "Apologies," he murmurs, "I was... intrigued by the smell of blood." It is not a lie by any means - it is fainter here but persistent still, and he wonders what would enable them to maintain such a strong barrier scent. (Or: he has an idea, but it is.. unpleasant, if interesting.) He lifts his head again, absently studying the other's features. "I am Argent," Étoille offers easily, adopting the name he chose for himself on his way from the Caldera. It belonged to a brother he has not thought about in years; it will suit him well for now. "You are from the forest," he adds, asking in his not quite a question manner, expression relaxed and curious. Of course by the forest he refers to the pack within, whomever created that blood-smell-barrier.

 This is a delicate needle to thread, Étoille is realising, but he is also driven by his natural intrigue. The other possesses a reticence that rival's Étoille's own, it seems. The aggression he originally bore has been smoothed out (for now) but the Rauna is not exactly in a position to pry for more information. Nor does he want to give the impression he's prying. 

 "I see," he says, and looks over his shoulder, expression curious. "What is it like?" The titan asks impulsively. And he wonders: what is it like, to live surrounded by a constant reminder of death? Or perhaps a constant reminder of power, depending on how one chose to look at it. Truthfully, it unsettles him, but perhaps with time he could adapt. Étoille has never thought too deeply on things like this.

The answer he is given is not the one he would expect from this bloodthirsty pack of urban legend. It is, he finds, an answer he can respect. Though there is the ethical matter of how to maintain the wall of death, but Étoille has never been... morally lawful good, truth be told. "There is a phrase for that," he remembers suddenly. "Memento mori." Something someone passed on to him in youth, though he did not find much use in the phrase then nor now. He is unconcerned with death - he will go peacefully into the night, when his time comes.

He does not wish to push his luck, and yet. "I am interested in your way of life," the titan admits. "I am sure you know there is talk of this forest. Of a.. bloodthirsty quality." He does not try to sell himself as a killer - Étoille is a follower, for sure, but he is not by nature aggressive or interested in murder. There is a difference, he thinks, between acting on orders (if given) and pursuing death on one's own terms. "I am not... how would you say, interested in urban legends. But it is intriguing," he admits, somewhat sheepishly, a hint of a smile on his mouth. "Are you looking to bolster your ranks for winter?"

Here is the gambit. Ét-- Argent, yes, there is no elegant way to gather information without a little infiltration - at the very least he'd like to see the borders for himself, but he thinks: he is large and healthy and perhaps they need numbers (and if they do not, that is important information for him to deliver, anyway). 

He does not blame the other for his suspicion - without that it is unlikely the blood-and-feather wolves would not have made it this far. But he is unfazed; if this stranger will not have him, if he fails here, it makes little difference. War is upon them regardless.

Argent smiles just faintly. "I do not believe I said I was from anywhere," he says, shoulders rolling, as if sharing a secret. He wonders if the other expects him to elaborate, and considers doing so for a moment, but holds his tongue, falling back into the reticence that marked his words before the companionship of those at Drageda eased his tongue. There is, after all, not much more to add - if he is not from Drageda then he is still the man who aimlessly spent the summer weaving across the Teekons following Gnarled Oak's dissolution. He does not pull more than the stranger pushes; the game is afoot for now.

He does not know what to expect, but it appears that for now he has passed the boy's inspection. He dips his head and follows silently. Argent had not had a plan from the get go other than to gather information. He is surely meant to rendezvous with Heda at the Caldera prior to battle but he does not know yet how... tenable that is. He does not know when Heda is returning, or how long they will spend before descending upon the forest. All he can do is play it by ear and look after himself.

As they step over dismembered flesh and bone he inhales the scent of blood deeply, acclimating to the acrid taste of it. "What is your name," he thinks to ask, finally, as they pass the threshhold of no return. There is, of course, only one name of interest to him - but he does not allow hint of that to pass through his calm features. There is time now.