Otter Creek You will kill or be killed, it's about progress

 It seems he has let himself stray too close for he is quick to be intercepted. Étoille wonders if this is the so-named Cicero, this large beast marked by an impossible to miss scar across his face. He certainly fits the part visually of a dastardly kidnapper, but the man does not assume one way or another yet.

 Étoille is not a particularly clever man but he is in essence a blank slate, and so oddly his nature serves him well in this regard. The presence of the snarling boy does not unsettle him (his confidence, though likely to get him maimed eventually) and he does not worry about lying or passing himself off yet. He is not trying to infiltrate, merely gather information, though ultimately he has no real plan yet. 

 The titan dips his head politely, expression unbothered by the display of aggression. "Apologies," he murmurs, "I was... intrigued by the smell of blood." It is not a lie by any means - it is fainter here but persistent still, and he wonders what would enable them to maintain such a strong barrier scent. (Or: he has an idea, but it is.. unpleasant, if interesting.) He lifts his head again, absently studying the other's features. "I am Argent," Étoille offers easily, adopting the name he chose for himself on his way from the Caldera. It belonged to a brother he has not thought about in years; it will suit him well for now. "You are from the forest," he adds, asking in his not quite a question manner, expression relaxed and curious. Of course by the forest he refers to the pack within, whomever created that blood-smell-barrier.