Whitefish River between two points

As they ventured along, Mordecai took in the sights where the conversation lapsed momentarily. It wasn't much too look at, being a winding riverbank for as far as his eyes could see, but they were alone. Where the foot traffic had been higher when he started along the path, it was beginning to dwindle not even five minutes into their venture. This he found interesting, but instead kept himself focused on the flowing words from his venturing partner. Mordecai found it intriguing that Dante had spent much of his time alone; he couldn't fathom the isolation, let alone if it were intentional or not.

“If you do, you'll remember,” he pointed out, “because if you don't, you'll find yourself on the road soon enough again.” The tawny Ostrega had yet to encounter a pack who didn't ask for anything in return for shelter and access to their stockpiles of covered food. To be blunt, he didn't believe such a pack could exist. “But I don't think I would call it stupid. If you're sure your actions would cause some harm to you in that situation, why bother with it? Pack or not, we're all interested in surviving.” And that was simply why as travelers they had managed to stay alive in the first place.

To an extent, Mordecai wasn't proud of the fact that he had deviated to scavenging off of whatever he found. There had been a time or two when the straits got dire enough that he had stole. Another thing he didn't plan on announcing to the world any time soon. “But don't think that packs don't make use of those of us who wander. Some places have… delicate… how do I put it? Situations? Maybe the word I'm looking for is alliances — either way sometimes they do good to figure out what their neighbors are up to. ” Were they in such a place? He didn't think it was that way, at least not yet.