Blood on my Hands

The topic turned to poisons. Inky ears shifted on sharply-cut head, considering the suggestion with quiet contemplation. The Eta did not find it unjust or unworthy to use the deceptive tricks of poisoning, nor did it never make it into arsenal. For the former drifter, there were no limits or boundaries. If a subject was desired dead any tactic would do, be it callously tainting meat or pushing able individuals off tall peaks. Death was death. Loyalty was loyalty. There were no grey areas for the spider. 

"Some," the wolf concluded at last. It was a limited response for a wolf who carried limited verbal speech. "What are my orders?" he wondered out loud, perhaps inappropriately assuming that the alpha would send the Eta on a quest or journey. Jawline tilted upwards confidently, glowering eyes settling on the mountain-wolf for any semblance of explanation for the inquiry. There was no better initiation than a duty to the pack.