Bearclaw Valley and he sings to me real low

He hopped down to join her, and Treason was probably as cautious of him as he was of her.  They were all unknowns and it put a damper on her own desire to poach members as needed.  It was unfortunate -- she wanted more to play her game, but only if she got to keep them.  Yet, she was curious.  In turn, both cautiously kept out of tooth range of the other though allowed for that bit of information to be exchanged.

And somewhere in the scents was one tracked probably second or third hand, it took a moment for her to pick it out but when she did, Treason recoiled a step, her expression flicking from momentary confusion to something that was probably subdued distrust.  Assuming she was remembering it correctly and had smelled it right in the first place, it belonged to a wolf who she'd expected to never smell again -- he'd been gone almost a year now, but she had not forgotten the chaos caused.  Redshank -- or Titmouse, whatever the hell that dude's name was, -- really should've been dead by now, if only she'd been allowed to cripple him when she'd had the chance.  But no, he was alive and with Stigmata and whoever else?  It gave her more reason not to trust any of them.

But distrust didn't mean that she would turn on him.  Yet, at least.  She needed to know what she was dealing with and so stepped back again, moving in a half circle or so,  So who are you?  She was just as gruff and cool as ever.  And why would anyone trust Redshank?  Was that really him?  It was faint and she couldn't be entirely sure.