panther park is not too far from blackfeather woods and though wintersbane is not prone to locking himself away and never leaving the territory — in fact he likes to travel around outside of it's borders just as much as he's ( much to his surprise ) exploring the sub-territories of blackfeather woods. exploring hadn't exactly been at the forefront of his mind as a cub. he only wanted to fight as a child. he'd always been looking for one and if he couldn't find one then he'd pick until he gotten what he wanted. he has no interest in scouting, not truly, merely he seeks to assure himself he is no prisoner. he can leaves the borders and return so long as too much time hasn't passed for anyone to question his loyalty. wintersbane doesn't like being beneath the rule of another but thus far this edition of blackfeather woods isn't proving to be so strict...but maybe the difference is now he's an adult.

the coniferous forest gives the impression of being vast as he moves through the thick and wild forest. there are old, faded scents of mountain lions traversing to and fro and he keeps a keen eye and ear perked to the shadows around and branches above him. underlying the faded scents of mountain lions is a more recent scent of a lone female and while wintersbane doesn't particularly mean to find her ...he ends up finding her anyway. she stands out in stark contrast against the shadows, the dark browns and mossy greens of the forest around them: all pale fur as white as snow. he keeps to the shadows, not necessarily to hide but because he does not wish to invade into her personal space. there remains plenty of space between them and wintersbane likes it that way.

out of courtesy and not to startle her ( if she has not yet already noticed his presence ) the tundrian lets out a quieted chuff to announce his presence.

she looks in his direction when his low chuff breaks the quietness that has settled, previously and briefly disrupted only by the soft rasp of her tongue through her fur as she groomed herself. he's interrupted her grooming time, catching her mid-lick and he watches as she stretches languidly like a cat upon her perch. he presumes the art of grooming one's self is linked to vanity — it is certainly what drives him to keep his fur as clean and groomed but that's an unfair assumption to make and he knows better. not everyone's vain like him.

"join you?" wintersbane repeats with an inquiry that carries subtle amusement. a soft chuckle builds and rumbles within his chest. "join you in what? you seem to have grooming down rather well." the tundrian teases her with a soft, amused sneer and though he gives her a hard time he takes a step out of the shadows and into her small clearing, though he still leaves plenty of personal space between them. it's out of habit, really. wintersbane never trusts anyone he just meets ...the exception to that rule of thumb appearing to be cubs.

wintersbane treats the term stalker boy as if it insults him. he recoils back ever-so-slightly with an exasperated noise, blinking at her once, drawing in a single, harsh breath. "i was not stalking you." he huffs. but he can see how it might come across as such. hiding in shadows? yeah, that was a bit stalkerish. "maybe i just prefer the shadows." he speaks the words smoothly, mischievously; switching from faux insult to a devil's mask with ease, like an actor upon a stage. "they do compliment me, y'know." he adds with an arrogant sniff.

the fun of switching between masks loses it's appeal as she draws winterbane back into the reality of a conversation not colored with mischievous and playful jabs as she mentions that he smells like a pack. she's not wrong. he does not bother to wash the scent of blackfeather woods off of him ...and anyway, he is not confident he would be able to rid himself of it completely. not without spending an extended period of time outside of it. they are a secretive bunch, however; and wintersbane is good at being tall, dark and mysterious. "so i do," he remarks casually with a lofty shrug of his broad shoulders.

"and you smell like you're lone," he returns the favor, attempting to artfully maneuver his way around speaking at length about blackfeather woods. the last time he'd attempted to recruit he'd already been beaten to the punch by a woman named liri who had warned the sun-kissed male to stay away from blackfeather woods. their reputation proceeded them, of course, and that was not necessarily a bad thing ...until it was. fear was a great and powerful weapon and like any weapon if mishandled it could easily cut the hand of those who would wield it.

but she does not appear to recognize his scent; however, that doesn't mean that she isn't already aware of the woods. word appears to travel quite fast and there are those in the wilds that appear to generously share their information. knowledge was power and wintersbane can't help but think that putting all the cards on the table right off the bat was a fool's move.

in lieu of their light-hearted and teasing conversation thus far he does not take her weirdo with much seriousness ...which feels strange. but wintersbane can tell by her voice that she does not mean it as an insult, not truly, and there's no need for him to take it as such. this is a rare mood for him, he recognizes. he spends so much time taking the world around him seriously ( which isn't necessarily a bad thing ) that letting go of his tight hold on control feels almost therapeutic. perhaps that's why he enjoys the company of cubs so much: he doesn't feel the constant pressure to improve and prove himself.

a smirk tugs at the corners of wintersbane's lips as she mimics his voice, tossing his own words back at him. he deserved it but there were expectations to being apart of blackfeather, and rules that he must adhere to. things as a child that he had no respect for. growing up he realizes that rules are necessary despite that he still wishes for that idyllic world where he didn't have to follow anyone's rules but his own. of course, that was entirely plausible in this world but wintersbane understands that there is a hefty difference between fantasy and reality.

"i'm allowed to explore you know." he gives a haughty huff and a playful roll of his eyes. "that isn't a crime." he points out with a soft chuckle. although he does admittedly have a penchant for breaking rules so it wasn't like it would be exactly shocking to anyone who knows him. which ...is very few wolves in truth. he tends to like to remain an enigma at all times, never letting anyone truly in.

wintersbane offers a further uninformative roll of his broad shoulders in a shrug. he was just exploring ...did there have to be a reason for it? he didn't think so. there were some days when he awoke with the itch to venture outside of blackfeather woods' claimed lands and so he did. sometimes there was purpose to it but today nothing but his own itch to remind himself that he is prisoner of no one. a smirk twitching at the corners of winterbane's lips as he thinks over her question of what other not-crimes he likes to do; contemplating how detailed he desires to be. she goes first this time though, offering him an answer. slyly, the tundrian wonders if this is a subtle deal: an answer for an answer. "so...," wintersbane draws and gives pause. "you like to spar?" he inquires with a partially lazy albiet interested twitch of an ear. "what is the use of sparring if not practice for real battle?" he asks her teasingly, a mischievous twinkle sparking in the glacial depths of his irises. "i also like to fight. the angry way, the show-offy way, and the fun way." wintersbane'll never turn down a spar if it's offered to him. "...and," he shifts his weight, a half shrug given. "i enjoy teaching cubs." wintersbane adds as a 'fun fact' figuring that it's a harmless thing to share.

she elaborates further on what she likes about sparring, stating that she likes when it's a competition to see who's stronger. "but it's not all about strength, is it?" wintersbane interjects. easy for him to say when he's built like a bear. ansbjørn's were no light weights ...they were beasts born and bred for war and wintersbane is no exception, having taken after lotte more than arturo. "brute strength only gets you so far. you have to be able to outsmart and outmaneuver your opponent." brawn definitely helped but it wasn't everything in a spar. but, perhaps that was just the tactician in wintersbane making it's grand appearance.

as their conversation switches over to other trades and interests ( for they are one in the same to wintersbane whom chose his trades out of interest and less out of necessity ), she inquires over if there's any cubs in blackfeather woods. he thinks of his the little stalking shadow and her pale sister. he in undeniably more closer to one than the other but he does not want to press his presence on either of them. they are old enough now, he thinks, to not truly need a sitter, anyway. still, he feels a rush of protectiveness, a puff of his chest is given in defensive of them. he doubts she is asking with any malicious intent in mind. but still, the realization that he'd kill to protect any cub entrusted in his care is a solid one; blood or not. there is no doubt the subtle albeit physically defensive posture he took as her question hangs between them no doubt answers for him.

"yes." he replies coolly, simply, an unspoken warning in the cold glint of his glacial gaze.

the woman calls him an over-analyzer and he scoffs at the word. "i'm a tactician." he corrects her, figuring he does not need to explain to her that analyzing and strategizing is what they do. of course, he did not yet have the specialty but it didn't mean he wasn't good at it. the specialty was just extra credibility. "we are an elusive bunch and our reputation is a dark one in these wilds." he tells her with a sigh of resignation. the fact that she does not recognize his pack scent tells him that she likely hasn't been in the wilds for very long. "many fear us and for good reason." he isn't saddened by that, really, but there is a trepidation towards it. blackfeather woods maintained their reputation sewing fear in the wolves of the wilds and yet ...yet fear was a strong weapon and a dangerously double-edged one. wolves, beneath the heel of the boot of the pack they feared would try to fight back when they felt threatened enough. fear made wolves desperate and that risk of desperation could bring death and the pain that death leaves within the survivors in it's wake. he does not offer her more information, watching her reaction, waiting for a further press of her curiosity or the recognition and concurrent hesitance that usually accompanies it.

"not me specifically," he corrects her. ironic, he thinks, considering one time he wanted nothing more than to be the biggest and the baddest. in his cubhood he'd have loved nothing more than to be an assassin. he is a warrior — it is woven in the very fibre of his being, in his blood — and yet he no longer feels the need to bear the trade to prove it. his skill speaks for itself. a trade is just a title to slap onto one's self. a decoration that does not have any real bearing. lotte had unlocked pandora's box within him and with it came all his potential. he is so much more than just brawn; and while he has yet to earn his way into the dark brotherhood it is not the assassin tier he seeks to ascend.

"i'm not up to date on the latest rumors spreading." it's almost ironic, those words. he'd hated them once... except, as he looks back upon it, it wasn't blackfeather woods he'd actually had a problem with as a child but instead those that had commanded it at the time. he'd been ill-informed, kept in the dark because he was an outsider; on top of being rebellious by nature. and he sees now that just because someone was born into a bloodline that was supposedly meant to lead a pack did not mean they had or would ever have the skill to do so. "they were war hungry, once. the leaders of the time picking fights with bigger, stronger packs in the wilds, almost murdering some wolves." that was true. but kove is a different kind of leader. a wiser leader.

"we are assassins, priests, spies; a blur of moral compasses, yes ...but we are mercenaries. we are meant to take contracts from packs that do not want to get their paws dirty." the previous leaders had seen an end to that despite their purity of bloodline. "it will take a long time to re-establish that kind of relation with the wilds." if it could ever be restored. it was hard to restore an original purpose when everyone was afraid of getting stabbed in the back. but letting wolves know that they are not mass-murderers and serial killers, that the actions of poor leaders should not define the pack as a whole seems like a good place to start.

he could continue a bit more about religion but he pauses here, gauging her reaction and interest. wintersbane doesn't want to give away too much but he can't ( attempt to ) recruit without giving away basic information.

"we're called blackfeather woods," wintersbane tells her. it makes no sense to hide it from her, especially when they've already got a ill reputation in the wilds. according to the sunshine colored man wintersbane hasn't seen since their initial meeting when he tried and failed to recruit him, word of them is spread freely. liri. he still remembers the name offered to him and wondered if that is something that should be brought to the attention of the dark master and listener or not. a reputation of mercenaries not to be fucked with was better than a reputation of murders and blood-thirsty cultists ...but it does not fall beyond his consideration that the leadership prior to kove's might have tarnished their name beyond repair ( or perhaps wintersbane just has a different and askew view on what blackfeather woods was meant to be ).

and then the question turns to him. "i'm called wintersbane." he tells as he shifts his weight, glacial gaze skimming the landscape behind her before it settles back upon her once more. a name in the long line of many that have come before it. this time, though, he feels it's sticking. it's a private homage to his mother and it helps him to feel connected to her despite the immeasurable distance that lay between the land of the living and the land of the dead. "and you? what're you called?" he returns the question with a curious and expectant incline of his head.

on the topic of blackfeather woods sounding intense he merely offers her a shrug. she does not seem to have any interest in being recruited and thus wintersbane has said enough. saucy, she introduces herself as. there's a quirk to his brow and an amused and ironic noise leaves him. "it fits you." the tundrian remarks his thought out loud; unknowing that she thinks much of the same of his name in regards to him. the failed recruitment drive behind him ( that was the second one thus far and that isn't overly encouraging to the tundrian ) he returns to something she'd spoken of earlier that had otherwise gotten derailed by other topics.

"do you favor offense or defense in a spar?" he asks suddenly, seemingly out of the blue. he thinks she'd be more fit for offense than defense but everyone had a preference. he could do both, personally favoring neither one over the other.

offense, she replies. he gives a contemplative nod. he'd thought as much. "both," he replies with a soft pause before choosing to elaborate. "it depends where i'm needed. i can take heavy hits but i can also dole them out." he responds with a roll of his broad shoulders. "i'm not as fast as wolves smaller than me." he wasn't admitting it as a weakness despite that it could technically be exploited as one. it was the truth. his bulk slowed him down, but he wasn't built for speed. not to mention, it wasn't like it was a secret. anyone that was good an analyzing up others could easily deduce as much. "every advantage comes with a disadvantage." everyone had an achilles heel to exploit; there was no such thing as a fighter without a weakness ( and if there was he would readily argue that it is nothing more than arrogance and will get them killed ).

she eyes him and tries to bait him by stating her opinion on which of the two: offense or defense — he'd favor over the other. he disagrees with a loll of his head. "what is so weird about it?" he inquires, lips twitching with a ghost of a smirk. "i am whatever i am needed to be." words that echo true for much more than just battle. "there is no law that says you have to pick one or the other. that is like saying you cannot be a warrior if you are a guardian." in other words, he thinks choosing one over the other is a bit ridiculous. wintersbane offers her a simple, lofty shrug of his shoulders.