«Across Salted Sea Foam»

Cry inwardly smiled at the barrage of questions. While many would find it intimidating to answer a massacre of sharp words, he simply reviled in the sole ability to be calm in such a situation. 
Nothing of the sort was betrayed in his voice.

"Aspiring Warden, Caretaker, and Counselor."

After a pause, he flicked a jet black aud to his back, where the array of criss crossed patch work of scars resided.

"The first trade attempt is evident on my back." 

 The shadow prince thought quite hard on his 'weakness', and found there was nothing to think about. His weakness was dead. He no longer had a weakness. 
He took the rest of the questions in stride, as easily as the ones he answered before. With elegantly practiced ease.

"I have grown quite well in the area of combat. I rather not use the skill, but whenever it is needed, I hold my own, and quite often, everyone else's."

He wasted no time in wondering what was the potential of him in a pack. The midnight lupine knew his weight in a pack s equally important, no matter the role. His tongue readied a fitting answer, never the less.

"I have no other defense as a lone wolf. I'd be better as a wolf with a home, than without one. And with that come responsibility to protect, reaffirm, and create prosper within the pack. That is a job I don't take lightly. And if I neglect such, I eagerly request execution for that treason." 

He meant those words. No matter how much they meant to the Alpha, he could care less. Cry held a personal vendetta against himself, and everyday his cowardice was the only breath in his pathetic lungs. But that cowardice kept him breathing. Until he was dead, only then could he rest.

"As for weakness, there is none. My weakness is dead. So I have nothing to lose, and nothing to hold me back."

A winter frost stare was kept at the laws of the steel sheathed wolf in front of him, and until other permissions were given, the mysterious ebony would keep it that way.