Blackfoot Forest Sturm Und Drang

@Kierkegaard  set after the tour?

Now that Pallas knew the land a little better, she felt somewhat less tense. There was no denying the energy was less than hospitable in this place; the forests and briars were beautiful, but the heartland dense and populated by thorns. In some ways it mirrored the pack's outward aspect. Pallas hadn't attempted to make a friend out of Minna, though it probably would have been the smart thing to do. Once Minna had disposed of her (who could grow sick of Pallas' wonderful company?) Pallas made immediately for the borders, trailing Kierkegaard's scent until she came upon him.

The ghost had not worried that Minna would poison the mind of the white woman. Upon meeting Pallas, he had thought her to be quite the savage creature, but this had not turned him away from her. Kierkegaard had known nothing but savagery in his time, and it would do him well to have a creature of his nature within the ranks of the Rosings pack. The other wolves would not be pleased that he had invited such a strange and ragged wolf into their midst, but he did not care… they belonged to him.
 
Kierkegaard had hunted in their forest, and between his jaws was a hare of medium size. He had not seen anything larger in the twisting trunks of the wood, but he was sure that there would be in the coming month. The buds were beginning to form on the trees once more, and the herds would be able to return. It allowed him peace to know that if they drove him from their pack, he would be able to survive on his own once more.
 
The scent of the female struck his nose, and the pale brute turned his crown to face her with a placid expression. The hare was still clasped between his jaws and he recalled how she had come in search of food. At the very least, her candid responses would be refreshing. Tossing the hare to her paws, the brute watched her. “How was your tour?” he inquired in a tone that suggested he cared very little.

It did not take her long to find the alpha, although it had less to do with her tracking capabilities and more to do with the fact that the pale wolf had no reason in which to conceal himself. Hungrily she noted the fresh slain hare clasped in the feral leader's jaws, and quickly she adverted her gaze before it could possibly be interpreted as a challenge. To say Pallas was taken aback by Kierkegaard's magnanimous gesture was an understatement; she glanced at him slyly with a pinched gaze. Was this a test? A trick? She dared not fall for it.

"Informative." Pallas' reply was crisp and curt. Some wolves would have falsely interpreted her clipped responses as brusque, but something about Kierkegaard's aspect made Pallas believe he was the type to appreciate such transparency. "What are we dealing with here?" It was a forward question, and perhaps it was a little bold of Pallas to use the word 'we' (as if she had not just arrived only hours prior!), but Pallas wanted to know. Partially so she could better serve the post he had commanded of her, but there was also a vein of self-interest in her inquiry.

The woman did not touch the hare that he had thrown to her feet, and this caused a ghost of a grin to curl his lips ever so slightly. “You came for food. Eat,” he said to her. There was no shame in the idea that she was forced to come to the borders because the lack of prey in the Teekon Wilds was enough to drive anyone outside of their solitary existence. He had known the hardships of living outside of a pack – belonging only to oneself was a demanding task. Famine had made the life of a lone wolf almost impossible, even for the skilled. But part of him was grateful that she had been forced to his borders. Her curt responses were welcome to his ears.
 
At the mention of the tour, she told him that it had been informative, but followed that statement with a question of her own. A sigh fell from his lips and he furrowed his brows tightly across his fire gaze. “I took their leader from them. I inserted myself into a position that was not mine,” he explained to her. “They don’t like me.” And this was true; they were not likely to accept him into their ranks because he had not taken it rightfully and because none of the wolves of Rosings even knew who he was. They would learn quickly, though.
 
“But I do not care if they like me. I was driven here by the same thing that brought you. Their alpha just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time,” he rumbled and his broad shoulders shrugged in a sense of saying that it was something that simply happened. “I will need you. I will need you to make sure that any signs of overthrowing me are washed out.” It was simple enough. Without the pale-furred woman, he would stand alone. If he could find others who would sit beside him, he would have a higher chance of holding his position over the pack.

He instructed her to take the hare and wordlessly Pallas took it. With a quick snap of bone and sinew it was gone. He had commanded it, and Pallas had seen to it that his will was done. With food in her bellly she was probably better company; at least for a wolf like Kierkegaard. As he spoke she listened silently, as best as a wolf of her stature could do. 'Listen' and 'silent' were not words normally found in her repertoire, yet she afforded the alpha both. Perhaps it was some small segment of basic respect; perhaps it was simply duty. As he explained how the events unfolded, she devised quiet strategies, playing different scenarios in her head.

She had not been clear in her original inquiry, and that was her fault. "I meant what are we dealing with. Warriors? Assassins? Nancies?" AKA, how far could she push them around before she got bitten?

The pallid brute had misunderstood her question. Narrowing his brows, the man stared at her as she elaborated on the information that was being requested. She wanted to know about the wolves of the pack. In spite of the lack of humor in the situation, Kierkegaard curled his lip and chuckled quietly. Perhaps it was the inquiry that the wolves of Rosings could be assassins and nothing more than the soft creatures of the woods. He did not see anything in them that would truly prove to be a threat, but he had been mistaken before.
 
Shrugging broad shoulders, the ghost turned to her and heaved a sigh. “They are… soft,” he growled, a frown creasing his features. “Perhaps even foolish and soft, which means that some of them will be reckless.” Should the wolves decide to turn against him, there would be more power in their numbers and he was fearful of the idea of an uprising. The more he spoke of them, the more the Sairensu male realized that he did not belong with their brood and that he had made a very drastic mistake.

Pallas watched the wolf out of the corner of her eye, noticing the amusement that colored his expression. She was about to be confused: she had not said anything funny -- but in that next moment Kierkegaard expanded on the reason for his somewhat derisive chuckle. She felt somewhat mollified -- it was great news to know her station within the pack would likely not be contested.. and if it was, she had plenty of teeth to defend it with.

She had gotten the impression the wolves were soft, but her impressions had let her down before and she had on more than one occasion made the mistake of underestimating an enemy. "Let them be reckless." Pallas suggested, a coyness in her words. She could be reckless too -- dangerously so -- and something suggested to her Kierkegaard was capable of the same.

The ashen brute’s humor was often misplaced; he happened to find himself in situations that did not warrant the sarcastic chuckles that tumbled from his dark lips. He did, however, think that it was necessary to allow himself a moment to find the humor where it shouldn’t be. The confusion on the woman’s face was more than understandable, but his explanation had cleared it for her well enough without the ghost having to speak further on the subject.
 
There was an air of arrogance in the way he spoke, and the way that he allowed Pallas to go on about allowing the wolves of Rosings to simply be reckless. Kierkegaard did not believe that they would pose much of a threat at all, which was why he so openly wished for the grizzled woman to speak the thoughts that sat in her mind. “Yes,” he concurred with her, eyes sparking somewhat. “I do not think you will have much issue, Pallas, but if you should need a hand, simply call and my fangs will be extended to you as well. I could not ask you to fight for me without returning the gesture.” As savage a creature as he was, he was not entirely unjust in his requests. More than this, the ghost was not a king who sat upon his throne. He was a fighter for those around him, and he would defend the woman with his life if it was called for.