Tormented Tarns and he was the man for the job; a one-man bombsquad

the other male's reply is not forthcoming and wintersbane takes a moment — a stretch of heartbeats — to silently contemplate that. cautious, then, the tundrian ponders of his companion. most are fairly willing to tell him things when he asks them and perhaps he's become too spoiled by the 'putty in his paws' thing. for a moment, wintersbane wonders if the stranger recognizes the pack scent that clings to his pelt like cologne ...but the tundrian holds doubt of that. if only because he'd not been met with aggression nor hostility. he's been fairly fortunate in that, he thinks. wolves he's met don't seem to really know about them...and if they do it's idle rumors at most.

would i have asked if i wasn't? wintersbane returns the older male's question with another inquiry. he likes the game. he enjoys the challenge of solving the puzzle and cracking it open to siphon the knowledge that's being withheld from him. the tarns weren't connected with blackfeather at all really. it's close but it's too far away to be considered hunting ground especially when more immediate territories are self-sustaining with prey. still, it's enjoyable for wintersbane to put on a show, ready to spin the tale that their power is so great that their shadows touch even as far as the tarns.

perhaps one day they will.