The pale boy came vaulting in from the north with the wind at his back, blustering carelessly against him as if to dissuade entry. Even in distress the youth was domineering in manner; he held his head low only when the wind gusted too strong to allow any other position, but in every instance where it lessened, it lifted to a height of implied respectability. Towards the forest, and then in to it's depths - where finally the wind died down and the boy could catch his breath. Sylvaine swallowed the odd metallic taste from inside of his mouth, felt the burn of his lungs begin to abate (barely), and slouched in the shadows.

His paws - oh, how they ached - they were bloodied from the endless travel. He huffed and puffed for breath, and only started to regain his composure when he heard a sound from nearby - the bushes, perhaps, or the crackle of the boughs in tandem with the wind. It was enough to start his heart racing again, and his mind wondering - was I not fast enough? He did not shrink away from the sound, but rose to meet it. Perhaps it is the Cardinal, who by fate has come to my aid. Sylvaine thought, brimming with ignorant hope.

Sylvaine chose to investigate, which was by far the most heroic and most terrifying thing he'd ever had to do in his entire short life. As his nimble little body slid between the trees and came out of the shadows, he was faced with someone completely new and foreign; it was not the cardinal, nor either one of the boy's attackers - as far as he knew. But the stranger held a determined posture, and the intimidation was sufficient enough to spook the boy. He was already dwarfed by the other wolf, but instinct pulled Sylvaine in to a tighter curl against the ground.

Monsieur, pardonnez-moi. Je... je besoin d'un endroit pour se reposer , juste pour un moment. As the words left his lips, Sylvaine tried to suck in another breath and calm his nerves. It was unusual for him to grovel and beg in such a manner, but it meant he would survive - or at least, have a better chance of it. Remember to breathe. He wanted to stand up straight and face this stranger with the poise and grace that had been borne in to him, and yet.. It seemed less important in this tense moment.

Sir, se il vous plaît, ah... I have been running, yes? I need ah, stop. To accentuate the dire need he was in, Sylvaine slowly lifted one of his front paws and exposed the pads beneath for scrutiny. The skin there was cracked and bloody, having been run raw by his flight for safety. Stop, yes? With any luck, Sylvaine had run in to far more pleasant company than he had fled - but so far the boy's luck was strained at best.

It seemed as if his plea had fallen upon compassionate ears. Although he was not given the go-ahead, there was an immediate cessation to the displayed hostility of the stranger, and that eased some of Sylvaine's worries. Even if he were to be chased off, this tiny moment to catch his breath and recuperate would not be wasted.

But the stranger did not chase him off. He asked questions, to which Sylvaine was eager to respond. I am from a kingdom far from here, The boy's words were slurred by his fatigue, slowed by the sluggish common tongue he now used, but the words themselves were audible. He tried to enunciate through his accent. And I was um, in lesson. My tuteur and I, we were set upon by sauvages - I have been running from them since.

He had left them behind, as far as he was aware. The strange assailants as well as Mazarin - and in thinking of the older wolf, Sylvaine fell suddenly quiet. His voice was diminutive, sorrowful. I do not know what became of my companion.

Had he been followed? The question turned Sylvaine thoughtful for a moment, but hesitantly thoughtful; he couldn't remember how many had actually attacked them, or which direction he had fled in order to escape. The details were lost in the chaos. What he could remember, Sylvaine wished he could forget - an image of Mazarin's body slamming in to the ground with two rogue entities grappled upon him, the scent of blood and the sound of Mazarin's shouting. Escape, escape, you must run!

The only answer Sylvaine had was a small shake of his head coupled with a forlorn look. There was no way to know if anyone had followed. He had done his best to out-run the assailants, and in the process... He was in a place now that looked nothing like his icy home. I am sorry to hear that. Do you have a home to return to?

Non, he replied, a sigh sliding from his lips with the word.

I fear that I am stranded in this new place. If I have a maison to return to, it is too far from me now. This moment was an important one for the pale prince. He had been running for so long, and so hard, that the thought of his kingdom had slipped his mind - but now he remembered it. He thought of his mère, and was struck by intense concern.

Non, I.. Sylvaine's voice sprung forth when Dante mentioned the possibility of him moving on, but he silenced himself so that the other man could finish speaking. He was right, of course. Winter was hard time for lone wolves, and Sylvaine was hardly equipped. To live among this pack of strangers - this lower class - was something he could endure; the thought of working for his meals was off-putting, but only because Sylvaine was untrained in such acts. He was unsure despite the clear choice ahead of him.

I am trained in diplomacy and law, but not.. Not hunting or any other task. I fear I am not so useful to you. It was the truth, but one he should have kept to himself if he wanted to survive. What would this man and his family want with someone trained in speech, or philosophy, or such things as laws? But I am in need - and I am willing to learn. I will give my time to you, monsieur, in every capacity, if you will grace me with compassion.

Winter was long and arduous - so by happenstance, Sylvaine would stay for the long haul. At least until the Spring arrived, or... If Mazarin were to appear, as unlikely as that would be. I will not desert your pack, I swear it.

Sylvaine may have held some doubts about his usefulness, but clearly this stranger was interested in what he could do; so in the next moment, when Dante proceeded to essentially accept the boy in to the ranks of the plateau, Sylvaine was obviously pleased. His head lifted subtly, not enough to place him in error next to his new superior, but enough to indicate the lifting of his spirits. Oh, dieu fait miséricorde! He was so tired, so worn out, but nothing could keep the happiness from his voice. It was dulled only by the knowledge that Mazarin, his poor lost tutor, could not be granted the same gift.

I accept, and I thank you. Ah, Introductions! In his haste to procure a safe bed and warm food, he had completely forgotten his manners! How improper of him - a prince, lacking propriety of station! His mother would be mortified. My name - I am Sylvaine Valére, Prince of the Montaigne Noire - But halfway through saying these things, as his head bowed with casual grace, he realized how awkward it may be to announce such a fact; so he corrected himself, and swiftly. Sylvaine will do.

With that sorted out (sort of), Sylvaine readily followed after his new-found ally. Once he was situated deeper in the lands, he would seek out a secure place to rest; although thoughts of Mazarin and the kingdom plagued him.