Tormented Tarns and he was the man for the job; a one-man bombsquad

i snorted at 'winnie' b/c tbh wb would hate being called that, lmao

alarian.

the tundrian tucks the name away as he has all the others he's collected over the years. it rings no bells but if the aspiring snitch has learned anything during his quest to rise into the dark brotherhood it's that names could mean a lot even if they don't seem like they do. information, regardless of how significant it is, is power if it is wielded correctly ...and oft times without mercy. wintersbane's glacial gaze follows the gesture of alarian's muzzle, mentally mapping out the packs that he knows reside in that general direction. there's a few of them, two fairly close together and one further east, but as he mentioned close that only left the initial two as options. other, newer packs could have cropped up too, he considers. he doesn't travel too far from blackfeather woods these days.

the expectant look on the older male's face inspires a ghost of a smirk to tug at the edges of the tundrian's lips. at the thought of having that information and not offering any in return. i live north west of here. he offers vaguely. it's a bit unorthodox to not have the scent of blackfeather recognized but is that truly a bad thing, he wonders? wintersbane doesn't think it is even if he's alone in that opinion.

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