Herbalists' Cache faithful john

Wintersbane is not my packmate.

Remember what happened the last time you trusted a non-packmate?
 
Thade’s stare narrowed, studying his rescuer for the first time with any real scrutiny — or uncertainty. He was surprised to find how easy it was to wash away his bright and shiny impression of Wintersbane, revealing a tarnished, crude ogre beneath the silvery gleam of a knight’s helm.

You know he’s not taking you to Sagtannet.

You know that don’t you?
 
What he had once considered as proud, heroic features were now frighteningly scarred, and crisscrossed with jagged shadows of bad omens. Where there had once been a reassuring gaze, reminding him of a clear blue skies and better days, he now saw daggers of ice, piercing down to his very soul. Controlling him, manipulating him, leading him astray.

He imagined that he could now see the wolf’s dark hooded head for what it was: another disguise, hiding his true identity.

Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

You’re letting it happen to you again!
 
Horror spread molasses-slow across Thade’s face, and fear laced his limbs, rooting him firmly to the spot. A pit formed in his stomach, bringing with it the sensation of nausea. Where are you taking me? the frog in his throat managed to croak out. 

His chest heaved. Up and down. Up and down. Faster and faster. This isn’t the way is it?