Broken Antler Fen when we drive

Uncertainty of the grim wolf's words itched at him like burrs too close to the skin. A darkness? He'd seen no sign of such a thing but he was in no position to argue their warning, whether he'd heed it was only up to himself. Still he disputed it in his mind, trying to piece together what little context he could surmise from his own experiences and the like. Perhaps they were speaking in reference to the Goddess that reigned over the encroaching season? Many wolves from where he originated described the Autumnal Lady as a dark crone of a wolf whose mere paw-falls bring death to the land she walks. He didn't agree with that depiction, but again- he wouldn't refute. 

However. The other's next move only uneased him further. Their gilded gaze hovered over his scars, of which now felt oddly vulnerable under scrutiny.

Their next words regarding them... Momentarily froze him to the core. He never liked to place judgment upon a wolf he'd barely known even for a few minutes but he found himself suddenly wanting to run the other way with the mere inkling that this wolf could somehow see into his past. The thought alone begged his face to distort with malcontent- maybe even a bit of fear. But he steeled himself against it with his own logic, and his outward appearance remained largely the same despite the tenseness under his skin. 

I'm not sure what you mean. Came his curt reply. He'd let the odd statement about his scars fall to the wayside, for now. Who are you? Are you a sort of... acolyte?