vilkas's expedition west is cut short as he realizes that he is cornered in by the north-west and south-west by the packs that inhabit the territories that touch those corners of the tangle — not that vilkas knows the name of the unpleasant territory he stalks through. if the whitemane was of a superstitious mind he might have been unsettled by the warped, bony, witch-like trees that stand legion throughout the territory. this revolution forces him to re-route himself and head south. all the while he strives to avoid the spiny brush, rocks and sharp drops that threaten to make his life difficult or otherwise prove to be dangerous that might more or less end in his untimely demise. he's not overly thrilled by the idea of backtracking and his annoyance is aimed largely towards himself for it. he should have turned around the second he realized what kind of territory he would be trekking through — and it hadn't taken him long to figure it out. yet, he hadn't and now he suffered for his hubris.

vilkas's salmon pink tongue lashes in a quick, swipe across his jowls as he reminds himself to keep plenty of distance between himself and the border that hugs the south-west corner of the territory he stalks through with a gait that conveys his inner annoyance. he thinks he is almost free of the the tangle — only to realize as he crosses his own path that instead he'd looped around in a giant circle. his upper lip curls back and in a rise of body heat from his building irritation ( at himself ) he lashes out at the nearest witch tree, claws slicing through the warped bark that curls and gives without much resistance against the force of his swipe. likely, it was already crumbling with decay but regardless he feels better and as quick as his rage built it is soothes and he is calm once more, turning his seaweed gaze away from the path he'd taken to find a new path. the detour he took had not been apart of his plan ( because he did not want to admit that he's lost ) but left vilkas with the hope that he would succeed now that he knew which ways to avoid going; and that hopefully, he would soon find himself free of the tangle.

vilkas's temperament is mercurial at best — it comes with the territory of being hot-tempered — and while it burns hot beneath his rust and copper pelage when he's angry it hardly ever lingers long, especially if given the chance to vent it out as he had moments prior. by the time he is aware of approaching footfalls vilkas has already moved on from it and has just begun to take a few steps towards the new path he was going to take to ( hopefully ) see himself out of the tangle. he does not move any further, though, as the steps stop and he knows that whomever had come was behind him. the wispy hairs at his nape bristle freely with his unease of having his back turned on a stranger.

vilkas turns and assess her with a quick sweep of his gaze, noting that her tail is raised over her back and her expression demands explanation. no doubt, she'd heard him. the sound of bark tearing away from the witch tree had not been quiet. especially not in the eerie silence that blankets the tangle. her scent, wafting his way in the nearly non-existent breeze tells him that she is from the pack whose territory hugs the corner of the tangle he has gotten lost in. while he is surprised to see another living creature in the tangle he supposes that she is from the nearest pack should not necessarily begot surprise within him.

vilkas's gaze slips from her to touch upon his handiwork before it slides back to her, debating for a moment longer on how honest he wanted to be. did he want to tell her he lost control of his temper? despite that the evidence more or less speaks for itself. did he want to have to swallow hubris and admit that he's lost? not necessarily; but that's likely pretty evident as well. he shifts his weight ever-so-slightly, careful to hold his posture to a neutral one that communicates he doesn't mean her harm. "i got a little turned around trying to find my way out." vilkas begins, figuring that given the situation honestly might be the best policy despite how bitter his pride tasted. "i got a little annoyed." he glimpses briefly at the damage he has done to the witch tree. it looks worse than it is, if only because the tree is partially dead to begin with.

"i'm not looking to cause trouble." he promises; and that was the truth.

vilkas watches as her posture slackens a bit but she remains, understandably, feral and intense. under different circumstances he would have, too. as it was, vilkas understands his predicament. he's lost in an unpleasant territory with little prey and blocked in to the north-west and south-west by the two packs that border said unpleasant territory and seriously outnumbered. grimnismal, is what she calls the southern pack. this leaves the mysterious pack more to the north still unnamed but vilkas does not ponder long on it or it's wolves. they're of no real concern to him. she gestures to a path that she claims is an exit and his gaze follows, seaweed colored eyes giving the gestured to path a quick once over as his ears cup forth, attentive and then slick back to rest at half mast atop his skull but he makes no moves towards the path she points out. there is something briefly humiliating about admitting you were lost and then finding out that the path to the supposed exit was literally right under your nose the whole time.

beyond that, vilkas could not help but be a bit suspicious of how easy it was. admit to his current short-comings and have his exit pointed out to him just like that? the nord is not the kind to think that anything is every offered so freely. "why're you helping me?" he asks. presumably, it could be because she wanted him away from grimnismal territory, he supposes; were the tables reversed he would want any potential squatters ( whether they were lost or not lost at all ) away from the neutral territory close to his pack's claim. "grimnismal, huh?" he tests the name out and makes the first step towards the exit she had pointed out. "i like the name." he remarks simply, taking another small step in the direction of the exit path, all the while watching her to ensure that she wasn't trying to pull one over on him because he didn't trust anyone blindly except for his siblings, naturally.

his assumption — that she is not helping but seeking to ward him off from her borders — is proven correct when she says much of the same thing. he appreciated the honesty and could hardly fault her for it when he knew and had mentally admitted previously that he'd have done the same thing. helping may not have not have been the intention but in the end, though, it did help him and the nord could not let that go unpaid. though vilkas did not err to the dramatic it occurs to him that he could have gotten lost indefinitely within the tangle and perished from starvation — for while that does sound overly dramatic he'd already proven he wasn't adept at navigating the witch trees and there was, as pre-established, a distinct lack of prey scents.

vilkas didn't notice when her cold smile had vanished, only that it had with a sweep of his seaweed green gaze as she remarks that 'grimnismal' is a nicer name than 'pack'. "'pack' isn't that bad of a name," he counters with a slight curl of his lips into a what would be a smirk would it have been full-blown. "it's simple. easy to remember." the firebrand is partially joking, without being very sure as to why. she'd already offered him his out and yet he still hasn't taken it. instead of making for the exit, the mercurial whitemane lingers to make stupid jests ( something he is not overly talented at, mind ).

he shifts his weight then and his partial smirk morphs into a more serious expression. he's switched gears easily back to what he contemplated earlier: the debt he feels he owes. "selfish as your reasons for showing me the exit may be i owe you a debt of gratitude nevertheless." vilkas informs her.

she appears to accept his debt and gestures for him to be on his way. like that, the conversation is over and it is time for vilkas to leave. he does not particularly wish to linger in the confounding tangle any longer than necessary now that is companion begins to take her leave and he heads in the opposite direction taking the path she's pointed out to him. it is easy to find his way now that he knows he's heading in the right direction and soon enough he steps out of the tangle's perimeter. he glances back over his shoulder before he moves south, hoping that the next territory does not cause him as much grief as the last just did.