Neverwinter Forest My Fifty-Mission Cap

He wasn't expecting quite so much information regarding the possibility of dangerous encounters, but he did have to snort and whip his head back when she mentioned the name of an apparently dangerous pack. "'Saints of the Dying Light,' gawd, you have to be kidding me. That name gets them negative points for fascetiousness alone," He drawled, though he nodded to show that he'd gotten the point. Regardless of how ridiculous their pack name was, he'd avoid them. They sounded like a bunch of ego-maniacs anyway, calling themselves Saints. 

He reminded himself to avoid Moonspear. If things were dicey now, he doubted he'd be able to help. He recalled having visited there once- but was confronted by far too many strong, warrior-looking type wolves so he'd bailed...So it likely wasn't the best place for him to go and show his face again. 

Of all the notes she gave him, though, it seemed the most troublesome one would be the loner, not the other pack. He gazed at her for a moment, but decided not to pry into questions he ought not be asking. Sometimes, on rare moments like this, he could exercise just a bit of tact. "D'you know what he looks like?" He asked, just in case he should spot the offending fellow which...For some reason, he found himself wondering if this guy was targeted now because of something personal, for Simmik. If his suspicions were true, then he'd keep whatever information he could in mind; and if he had caused her any grief, he'd repay it tenfold.