as cyron turns from the borders after ensuring that the ebony man is gone for good his emotions are a raging miasma within him but he is firm in his conviction and cannot help but feel that the ebony man's nothing but trouble instinctually. pissing on blackfeather woods's borders? it was only a matter of time cyron knows before they stop putting up with it. they are master spies, persecutors and murderers and cyron feels that they are either amusing him by letting him think he's getting away with it or they are simply too preoccupied to deal with him — but they would deal with him, eventually. just so long as he is far away from easthollow when his decisions catch up with him; that is all cyron cares about. he deems it prudent to speak immediately with @Valette about the interaction he's just had and as he seeks the alpha female he wonders if he handled it correctly.

the question is definitely forefront in his mind of if she would chide him for being so persecutive himself. cyron shudders to think that he's picked that up from his captors and his stomach turns violently at the realization that he's like them. he would ask valette, he decides. he would ask her if he was right in how he'd handled dakarai, if his hostility and unwillingness to see the man's side as wise was something to be troubled about or not. she is a third party observer to his condition and re-assimilation back into society and life and he's not as worried about disappointing her as he is his parents. they want so desperately to fix him, for him to mend and be whole again that cyron doesn't have the courage to tell them that he may never be fixed or whole ever again.

valette comes onto the scene quickly enough, easing cyron of the anxiety that had begun to eat at him as he considered calling for her. he didn't want to draw too much attention to himself and the altercation he'd just had and he worried that if he called one or both of his parents might come running. her woof of greeting catches his ears, which cup forth, alert atop his skull as he looks to her. he lowers his eyes to the snow covered ground beneath their paws and lowers himself into complete submission to her, recognizing that she is the highest of high ranks and that he is the lowest of lows. it was always better to be safe then to be sorry, he's learned. she greets him by name and as he draws in a breath to answer her, it's gets caught in his throat, briefly suffocating him. he pushes it out forcefully and takes a small gasp of breath as the anxiety settles after it's brief and abrupt flare-up. evidently, this was going to be much more complicated than he'd originally thought. his mouth is as suddenly dry as a desert and his tongue feels like heavy sandpaper as it draws across his injured jowls. he doesn't know how to answer her, how to properly address her as to not earn her ire and so he gives a small dip of his head in apology and chooses not to respond to her question on how he's doing because the answer is plain: not well. sure, he is filling out, he can keep food down a bit better and his wound is healing but psychologically? that is a whole different war.

"i had a ...situation with a man on the borders," he admits suddenly, apologetically. "i-i was not sure how to handle him. he smelled faintly like blackfeather woods and i-i panicked. i told him to get lost and he assured me that he wasn't from blackfeather woods, that he smelled faintly like them because he was pissing on their borders." his reasoning doesn't matter much to cyron. it was foolish — even the callow and tormented saefyn could see it plain as day. "he explained that they had caused him to lose everything and that was why he was doing what he did. i was angry because i didn't want him to lead them back here but he swore that he covered his tracks." but cyron does not take the man's word at face value. too much has happened to him to be able to trust many. he leaves out the part of how degraded the man had made him feel by more or less calling him a coward — that was a private demon now and not something he felt valette should concern herself over.

"i just wanted you to know, in case —" but he cuts himself off sharply. he cannot make himself say it. but he suspects she will be able to follow his train of thought readily enough: in case he leads blackfeather woods here.

cyron feels a small amount of relief, a loosening in his chest as she assures him that he handled it wonderfully. idly, he wondered if she would feel the same if she'd been there to witness it and the words that they exchange; but she didn't and cyron wasn't going to tell her that he had his feelings hurt by a insignificant stranger. he'd thought he'd been brave when he escaped blackfeather woods but ...perhaps it hadn't been bravery at all. perhaps it'd been cowardice. that was what the stranger had more or less insinuated: that he was cowardly because he could not overcome, because his mind, so young and vulnerable, was re-wired to suit his captor's purposes. cyron hates that some man whose name he doesn't even know had that much influence on him. no, no he wasn't a coward. he was brave. if he wasn't he would not be here, back in easthollow, speaking with it's alpha. "i should have called for you or one of the guardians but i — i didn't want him lingering." cyron offers apologetically. he'd already explained why he hadn't wanted him lingering on the borders and didn't feel the need to be redundant.

he nods but offers nothing else verbally as she assures him that she'll tell nanook and the other guardians to keep an eye out for the stranger and blackfeather woods. "he was skinny, black with blue eyes and some grey on his face and ears," cyron tells her, not remembering if there were any other distinguishing marks. it might be hard to distinguish him from any other blue eyed wolves with a black pelage, though he hopes the greying part might help a bit. cyron cringes a bit as he says 'skinny' because the rawboned saefyn isn't necessarily one to talk. "he wasn't very submissive. he kept looking me in the eyes and challenging with body language." he struck cyron as defiant though whether it was because of cyron's age or not the boy couldn't tell. his age shouldn't have been too tell-tale aside from that he was at least a year old if only because cyron is very nearly indistinguishable from any other adult now but that was neither here nor there at this point. still, it seemed prudent to include any details he had to help valette and the guardians identify him.

his ears flutter back to slick against his skull as she inquires about if he wants to be a mercenary and offers her sister as a mentor. "i — i," he swallows thickly and looks away from her. "i don't know. i mean, i want to be able to fight but ..." he licks his lips, wincing as his tongue draws across his ruined mouth. "i'll think about it." he decides. he doesn't want to hurt anyone but on the opposite side of that coin he doesn't want anyone to be able to hurt him. he'll do what he has to, to make sure that no one ever again twists and breaks him the way blackfeather woods did.

cyron gives a curt, albeit solemn nod when valette reminds him that he is nearly an adult and offers her confidence in that he can stand his ground. yes, that much he could do, he is certain. he held his ground — for whatever it was worth — against the ebony and grey colored man and he could do it again. if anything blackfeather woods had instilled a adherence towards distrust when it came to strangers aided by the fact that he is ( exceptions notwithstanding ) taciturn. valette's words relieve cyron greatly and it is shown in the deep inhale and heavy sigh of an exhale that he lets out after she finishes. he is glad that the business of the daring male is finished; even if it does inspire the next leg of their conversation. she assures him that he is not under any pressure and then suggests that he could spend some time with her son, ezra. cyron is left feeling surprised by her casual suggestion of it and his ears flutter back as he contemplates her words. she would really want him around her son? even though he's ... the way that he is? it's not as if cyron is unaware that he isn't the same boy he was before he was kidnapped. he can see it, he can see it in the pain in his parent's eyes when they look at him and know that the cyron they see is not the cyron they remember; will likely never be that carefree, ignorant and naive child ever again. "i — i'll think about it," he says slowly, carefully. his salmon pink tongue draws across his jowls in a swift motion. his contemplation of the suggestion was more for ezra's safety then cyron's own but he can't say that and thus hopes she accepts that he will, at the very least, consider it. "thank you." cyron breathes to her earnestly, ghosting towards her with the intent of offering her a submissive lick beneath her chin.

cyron's tongue draws across the bottom of her chin once, quickly, before he shuffles back to where he'd been standing before. he isn't one for having personal space breached — understandably — and he would never presume to linger long in someone else's personal space. "n- no," he says, ears splaying back against the curve of his skull. "thank you for uhm, listening to me." it seemed like a socially acceptable thing to do: to thank her. she was good and cyron was able to immediately recognize this about her. he takes her in, slowly raising his dull chestnut gaze to study her for a moment, wondering if he's actually ever seen valette before — suffice to say he remembered very little of his time before his fight with rowana and his kidnapping; his time in blackfeather woods and all the things they'd done to him had unfortunately taken precedence over old, happy memories. she's pretty, he decides with a rush of warmth to the skin beneath the fur of his cheeks and his diverts his eyes quickly. "i'm — i s-should get back." back to what? his patrol? his parents? did it matter? anywhere that wasn't here at this point. he turns abruptly, takes a deep breath and departs, unintentionally heading back to the borders, needing space to think and categorize the events of the morning.