Silver Creek here we stand

Okay, Io. Listen close. He leans in. His eyes tremor like Brownian motion. 

You're right. What he's about to say next he wants for it to be altruistic but Wymond can't help but derive a hypocritical satisfaction from it -- I'm in the in-group, you're unfortunately not, you can't stay here. They don't take too kindly to wolves like you. One look at Lio and some of the more devout Déorwines would thrash and flail like they were going through toxic shock. 

He thought he knew for sure that he was going to join them, after all, it was the only home and family he had ever known, the only god -- but a thought purrs on in his brain, the prospect of mutiny thrills him and disgusts him. To hell with the Kingslendists, he wants to say. He wants to be the righteous woman with the flag in Delacroix's painting of the French Revolution (Lady Liberty!) and more than the glamor of it all, he wishes to be free, whatever that means.

He feels selfish, and struggles not to embrace it. Was it family if he couldn't even remember their faces?

All these emotions, he fights to condense into a few words. I don't know. They're so goddamn... bourgeois, if you get what I'm saying.

Where are -- where are you planning to go?