The Floodlands feel like i don't even know me

The obvious was stated as the other male spoke — that the savage was not Arturo's Family. It wasn't anything that Arturo needed reminded of. Arturo's expression was easy to read and clear with it's message: I know. Arturo could have easily spouted something about “taking what is yours is disrespectful” but he supposed to say something of that sort would simply make him a hypocrite, but he hardly considered himself a petty thief. Stealing wasn't apart of his goals: sometimes it was a necessary and effective tool to get him where he needed to be, but it had hardly ever been a priority of his. “Stealing from me is unwise,” The Fearghal sovereign spoke simply, letting out the only warning he intended to give. The other male might have been bulkier, stronger but the coywolf had brawled his fair share in the past. There would always be times when physical altercations were needed to prove that he wasn't to be fucked with, but habitually he was a man of words and charisma and exploited both until he'd exhausted all other options and nothing remained but utter brutality. It was far from his favorite course, but sometimes proved necessary.

There was a heavy sigh had left the savage's lips, accompanied by the bristle of fur as he stranger drew nearer. Arturo's muscles remained taunt, pper lip curling back to reveal his teeth as his fiery orange-red eyes hardened in warning. There was a threat in the stranger's approach, but it was a threat that Arturo returned. “I am looking to extend the Family, to build an empire. I'm offering you a chance to be apart of that legacy, a pack,” His legacy, his reputation within the territories around the Hollow hadn't his own, at least not fully. But here, he had a chance he had never had in the shadow of Boadicea. “Are you interested?” As to whether the stranger agreed or not, and fruther, whether Arturo left him the Vole regardless remained to be seen.