Silver Creek you are my mission

Phiipa played the field nicely Ghost noted: talking up the pack while also being sure to talk him up, introducing him as a “friend”. As the two women exchanged words Ghost considered the word. He wasn't sure that was what Phiipa and him were but of course he doubted Phiipa could tell her leader the true complexity of what they were to one another. Perhaps even Phiipa didn't understand it in full but for Ghost it was simple. She was his “commander” — she was what The Officer had been for years. The Beta, Laika as Phiipa had introduced her, spoke to him this time and his ears cupped forth, towards the pallid leader to signal that she had his attention.

“I am a quick and efficient hunter,” He began with, giving a pause to lick his jowls. The truth was he had many talents but he was not sure if they were any that this pack could use or if, for that matter, he wanted to continue to use them. Phiipa wasn't The Officer and Ghost acknowledged that his skills might need to be adapted to fit the “mundane” lifestyle of an average pack wolf. Something that he had not been in a very, very long time. “I can track,” He included and concluded with, “and I'm a extremely capable fighter.” He was a war machine, and those were his specialties. He was not forged to admire stars or know plants. He was crafted and molded by The Officer's paw to be what he was: a killer. Tracking, hunting for and defending — either on the offensive or the defensive — a pack was the only ways he could think to adapt his particular skill set to be useful to them.

“I suppose whatever trades will allow me to do those things are the ones I will put effort towards earning.” He'd never been in a pack long enough to earn a trade and though he was familiar with the word and their importance as roles within a pack structure he'd never put much consideration towards them. Not until now.