Swiftcurrent Creek bad habits, schmad habits

Fox’s question was not entirely without warrant, Cutthroat surmised, though the idea of him lying about his presence being of no real use to Fox or the wolves of Swiftcurrent Creek, henceforth, giving her the knowledge she needed to dispose of him was a baffling thing for the inky Pirate to even consider. If he would have been lying he would have told her that he was of value, that eventually Cutlass and Corsair would come back for him, would trade Bones for him but even to Cutthroat who had grown up surrounded by exaggerated tales that sounded entirely too far fetched. Not to mention entirely useless. Cutlass and Corsair didn’t care about him and the only woman in Tortuga that did probably didn’t even mind his absence — if he wasn’t there he wasn’t chasing off prospective suitors — and that left Cutthroat feeling more alone than he ever had.

He glanced down at his paws, their outline visible in the dimness of the den and tucked the left one in close to his chest before his eyes, a shimmering darkened gold in the darkness, peered at Fox’s outline. “If I was lying to you I would have told you that I meant something to the wenches, that they would be back for me,” Cutthroat told her bluntly, sighing softly into the stretching darkness. “However, as much as it pains me to admit, I was not lying when I told you they won’t be back for me. Hired muscle is always expendable and I’m a traitor to boot. Why would they come back for me?” Cutthroat poised the question to her before adding, “Would you risk your life for a traitor?” before he fell to the silence.