Kintla Flatlands The voices inside my head, I hate them.

Sated with the response he was given, Mordecai began to smooth himself out a little bit. Maybe the fellow had just been venting himself. Though he couldn't quite help but wonder, he hadn't walked in on the whole shouting match taking place. Unnerving feelings aside, their attention arrived at the fact that Mordecai was, well, being Mordecai. Wandering. His conversational companion did not have to try hard in that moment to lure him away from what they had been discussing, as their new topic was one that he had encountered time after time, after time.

“I haven't decided yet,” he said plainly, “I suppose right now you could say I'm travelling through the same places again and again.” And why not? He hadn't really been run off from any of them, and the packs hadn't rallied against him to shoo him in more physical ways. The Wilds had given him ample game to chase, and plenty of others to talk to. “I figure it can't hurt to wander about for a while.” The Ostrega tested the air himself, finding the scant traces that tied him to the mountain he had come by some days ago. He did not comment on this particular note, though. The Amazonian Kesuk had certainly bolstered quite a crew, it seemed.