Kintla Flatlands my travel

Chuckling, he merely offered up a rhetorical question to her comment. “Does anyone?” Mordecai shared the same notion, as he cared little for destructive packs himself. But they existed, the proverbial evil to all their good in the world. In a way, it was how he supposed the Spine had acquired wolves like Sitri. Not because the scarred wolf was an evil creature, but rather than he had been borne of an evil place. Mordecai had never pressed him for his history, and more than likely never would. What was done was done, and better left alone.

“We're doing well enough. Keeping busy and the like. Getting in our last minute exploring, hunting, and so on before the snows. Have you lived here long? Any idea what kind of winter we might be in for?” He gave away that his existence in the Wilds was not long, and Mordecai had no qualms about owning up to it. There were more transient wolves in the Wilds than natives, when it came down to it. In time, if they remained, no doubt they too would have earned their titles as natives. But the region was large and cumbersome, or so he had come to gather.