The Tangle masked in blood and bathed in fire

vilkas watches as her posture slackens a bit but she remains, understandably, feral and intense. under different circumstances he would have, too. as it was, vilkas understands his predicament. he's lost in an unpleasant territory with little prey and blocked in to the north-west and south-west by the two packs that border said unpleasant territory and seriously outnumbered. grimnismal, is what she calls the southern pack. this leaves the mysterious pack more to the north still unnamed but vilkas does not ponder long on it or it's wolves. they're of no real concern to him. she gestures to a path that she claims is an exit and his gaze follows, seaweed colored eyes giving the gestured to path a quick once over as his ears cup forth, attentive and then slick back to rest at half mast atop his skull but he makes no moves towards the path she points out. there is something briefly humiliating about admitting you were lost and then finding out that the path to the supposed exit was literally right under your nose the whole time.

beyond that, vilkas could not help but be a bit suspicious of how easy it was. admit to his current short-comings and have his exit pointed out to him just like that? the nord is not the kind to think that anything is every offered so freely. "why're you helping me?" he asks. presumably, it could be because she wanted him away from grimnismal territory, he supposes; were the tables reversed he would want any potential squatters ( whether they were lost or not lost at all ) away from the neutral territory close to his pack's claim. "grimnismal, huh?" he tests the name out and makes the first step towards the exit she had pointed out. "i like the name." he remarks simply, taking another small step in the direction of the exit path, all the while watching her to ensure that she wasn't trying to pull one over on him because he didn't trust anyone blindly except for his siblings, naturally.