Whitefish River but even if we won't admit it to ourselves

He knew that his Pakhan did not care for conversation and questions… that was where Ryzhov came in. He handled the information gathering, the words that could bring more and more secrets from others’ maws. His job was to thoroughly vet those who might be brought forth for judgement and he took pride in his work. It was a hunt indeed. The other man approached, a uncomfortable thumping of his heart bringing him to simply freeze in place. He did not understand it, and he did not have time to consider what it could possibly mean in a situation like this.
 
He was wandering. “Wandering somewhere in particular?” He posed again, his own curiosity piqued by the other as he recalled something his father had once told him: wandering was a powerful tool. He had thought it might make another a fool, but now as he sought out recruits he understood it had it’s merits as well. Perhaps his old man had not been as simple-minded as he had originally thought.
 
The question was one he had a trained response to, but something stayed his tongue in that moment. “Not a pack.” He stated simply. In his mind, packs had always been fraught with errors. “An army.” He stated again, not wishing to give away too much. “Looking for strong men who aren’t afraid to sink their teeth into their brethren, and who aren’t afraid to put a bitch in her place. There is a place near here my commander wishes to take, a bride he wishes to reclaim from a pack who refuses to hand her over. I am seeking recruits for a mission.”