Blackfeather Woods where it all goes down

 The irony of the situation is not lost on him, but he cannot make heads or tails of how he feels about it. There is a weird, unbidden gratitude: this is helpful to him. There is his worry for Drageda brought on by the strange woman and Vaati's look-alike. There is the puzzle piece that is Cicero, his only real object of derision in the forest, as Argent does not bother himself with such lofty ideals as the good of the general public. In a different world, perhaps he would stay here and fully assimilate. Go after Cicero when the time is right, but otherwise become, for all intents and purposes, another one of their bloodthirsty brood.

"A philosopher," he repeats, an eyebrow quirking up. Argent cannot relate. His interiority is, frankly, limited. But what sort of philosophy does this man, the kidnapper, the torturer, the father, the spy, follow? The man evens his gait as instructed, belatedly, and nods. "Thank you," he says, a touch awkwardly, and falls silent, letting Cicero take the reigns of the conversation if he so chooses.