Whitefish River tired blue boy walks my way

"Shadewood, the locals have taken to calling it.  And once we get there, we will be it's keepers."

The answer was short, as he didn't have as much information on the rest of the fauna and such of the land; Makaro's analysis had been rather short. "It's like that of a jungle, partly humid with a many of rivers trails through it."

Slade caught her interest as soon as her eyebrow had sent its message. The words only confirmed the assumption. The fae's eye was on Cry. Nothing intimate, surely, but how his rogue son had functioned was near otherworldly. Most of it was indeed the Nightmare King's training, while the rest was honed through the savage life of solitude the youth brought upon himself.

"He pushes himself hard through physical barriers. He knows his boundaries, even when it seems he does not. Boy is a wonder, in my eye. I don't know what he strives for, but if perfection is his goal, then I support him in his attainment."

Slade returned back to the subject of the woman, his round of conversation being placed well in his reach.

"What of you? How do you see yourself assisting in the life of packhood?"

Slade held off on his opinions, but he had gathered so far that she could prove well in recon waork, considering she was an endurance traveller. From how she treated their conversation, he could very well see she didn't have it in her to openly converse until opened gently, which made poor for an Ambassador, but so was Cry. Is. So is Cry. Cry still had issues with speaking openly, but as far as recruitment, the mysterious onyxian did wonders. So he couldn't very well doubt her ability for Ambassadorship, now could he?

As far as her physical prowess, Slade felt her stamina had shown through, showing how capable she would be as a Scout, or a Ranger. But he hinted at nothing, as he wanted to see how she felt in such matters; it was her choice, after all.