Otter Creek be Bob Ross and paint me a picture

wintersbane almost misses the soft, whisper words of gratitude that come from the other man. in wintersbane's world he rarely does things out of the kindness of his heart. perhaps, the maned delta considers, there is no kindness to be found there and if there is it is reserved for so little few. the tundrian draws in a deep breath and lets it out in a slow exhale. he was in no position to offer the male any sort of temporary refuge and wintersbane had other things to do; he couldn't remain out here forever. his weight shifts as he contemplates, eyeing the other male up once more. it seems a bit imprudent to bombard him with the recruitment song and dance, especially since his memory seems to be not all together whole at the current moment.

"i know i didn't." wintersbane remarks on the topic. silence falls and it is some time before wintersbane's lips part to speak once more.

"you wouldn't be interested in joining a pack, would you?" the tundrian asks conversationally, as if that's normally something someone asks of a complete stranger. blackfeather woods isn't hurting for numbers and it wouldn't hurt wintersbane's feelings if the stranger flat-out declined but there the tundrian isn't one to waste an opportunity when he sees one, regardless of how slim the chances of success may or may not be.