Blacktail Deer Plateau Sometimes you're the train, sometimes you're the track

Dante's words flowed through Malachi's right ear and did not exit the other. Rather they cranked through his mind like clockwork. His eyes remained fixed on the horizon, and he did not search Dante's face for clues on how to think or feel. He let the history speak for itself, and what he found there made his heart ache.

He didn't know any of these wolves, but the pain he felt for each made his head hurt. Whatever had transpired to break father and daughter apart he could not fathom. A couple wrong decisions? A few careless choices? He knew nothing of Peregrine's daughter, but for her he felt a different sort of sorrow, one that made little sense to him. If she had brought her death upon herself, like Dante had said, why did he feel so much for her?

His only share in this conflict was his standing as a Plateau wolf - a union with this pack's family and history, though he'd experienced none of it himself. His brows knit, but with concentration rather than confusion. Dante's reassurance calmed the worry in him, but he could not lie. Doubt still nibbled at his mind. He'd thought so little of the sea-wolves - but Malachi stopped the thought before it could run its course again. This was different.

Malachi cleared his throat when he realized he'd let none of his thoughts rise for Dante's ears to hear. "I think you're better to take caution, and I'll take it too." He glanced at Dante, and finality slipped through his words. "I'll keep far from the south, if it means keeping both families safe. You have my word."

He paused in a beat of hesitance, and for a moment glanced to the sky. "But... I did wander down there once, right before the fire. I met two wolves with ruddy fur - a mother and a daughter, I think." They hadn't given names or made note of any shared relation, but from their interaction, he was convinced they were at least kin. The way they looked at him again surfaced to his mind - he couldn't shake the memory of their apprehension, their wariness. "Would you... know them?" From the Caldera? The implication ran heavy through his words, and he turned a searching gaze to his leader.