a tour around hell

At the admittance of a common spectrum of living, the russian had hope that his leader could have too, been from his homeland. Then, as swiftly as the hope came, his logical mind murdered the infant idea.
If he had been from Mother Russia, at his nearness to the pack borders, therefore not having this conversation.
Unless the Praetor had gotten soft from being in this land of kindness. Vector's brain sneered at the sickening word.

"But surely, with your homeland so far off, your pack should have your own language and when someone has their own language, they usually carry an accent but you don't and neither do I. So are you masking it?"

Damnit.

Though his accentless façade had been burned at the stake, the recon's ears perked at the admittance of the leader too, holding a bit of his home within himself.
The fire pelted man admired that.

"I am. Most take to keeping their eyes out on the unusual, and I rather not be noticed for my differences. I save such for someone that I may care for, one day. If I live to see it."

The man kept his foresty stare ahead, refusing to look at his Alpha, despite the strangeness between the two, diminishing. Respect. It was molded to his core. And he abided by it, thoroughly.