Kildeer Rest a dead man's tale

Made sense. A slow hnn hums out of his mouth, single eye sliding quietly to what shadows she guarded. Not his style. He preferred stone to snow, rain to hail, all that. He hadn't expected warm welcomes, per se, but he hadn't expected such paranoia. Either this was a land of constant war and incessant spies set to ruin packs from beneath their own rafters, or every piss-marked border he touched was set to explode at the sheer presence of a stranger. He couldn't remember a time where they'd even protected their own barracks so tightly.

"I'm not interested in your land," he thrummed, bluntly enough. There was very little about a skeptic's wondering that wasn't inherently threatening, and he tended to be the type to stomp those out if he could. If he was a recruiter - he never had been, but if he was - he certainly wouldn't go about pitching like this. Ears fluttering, the golden eye swept back to where he came from, coiled mouth flexing at the corners. "Any good soldier knows what land he's in from mountain to mouse hole - that's all." One tattered ear flattens, regarding her sideways. 

No, not all women should bear themselves so proudly, but he'd stopped caring so much that he felt like shoving every single face into the earth. Hers, no, it wouldn't do well under his paw and halfway broken beneath the stones. With her fur, you'd barely see the damage. Pointless. "It is your land, isn't it." It's barely a question, but he gives her his eye, his attention, and that's all you can ask from a man like him, isn't it?