thank the gandy dancers for a path well worn

Something about Caiaphas upset him still, but Malachi dismissed the disturbance with a flick of his ear. Having been raised amongst packs who trusted each other like kin had once proved a blessing to the peaceable youth, but here his heritage served more as a hinderance than a help. He took her response at face value, and allowed a small ease to settle in him now that he knew where her allegiance lay. On her scent he tasted the sharp tang of the sea, an understandable aroma if she lived near a bay. He knew nothing of the packs that lived near the sea, nor had he known any lived there at all.

To her question he gave a short nod. "Yes." But his reply, though simple, hid a myriad of hope and uncertainty. Caiaphas - this woman who carried Larus' scent - knew of their pack at the Glacier... but had not returned the boy. If she had been with Larus, surely the boy would have told her of them, unless the only time she'd spent near him was when he had already become a rotting corpse. The thought that the woman could be harbouring the boy away did not even cross Malachi's mind: that a wolf could knowingly hold a pup from his family was unthinkable to him. But his scent was too fresh, too... whole. Too alive.

At a loss, Malachi shook his head and felt his skin burn when he realized he had let his attention drift. "I'm sorry - I didn't - " But he caught himself and paused. Assumptions would only get him so far, and his queries now biting at the tip of his tongue spoke too loudly to ignore. "I can't help but notice you carry the scent of a pup we lost over a moon ago. We thought him dead, but... his scent is fresh on you."