Blackfoot Forest rippling out through his past and future

the corners of winterbane's lips curl, not quite a smirk, not quite a warning ...not quite much of anything, really. it's an absent gesture. one he makes without even thinking about it and the absent gesture lingers briefly. he takes slavik's words at face value: that he was warned away from the pack by a stranger named liri. the name rings no bells, but he tucks it away because it might be useful in the future. because wintersbane is well adapted to being what he needs to be. spy. warrior. caregiver. a jack of all trades with no true allegiance except his own. he serves what serves him, in the end. not unlike the man that sired him.

he doesn't instinctually keep her name with the intention of using it ...but knowledge was power, after all. "depends what you're into," the tundrian shrugs his broad shoulders carelessly. "we're ...soldiers of fortune, i guess you could say. our services are given to the highest bidder because we can do their dirty work for them. the world is not as black and white as it may seem. just because someone does what others are too afraid to do doesn't make them evil." and he liked living in the grey between. that tentative land of neutrality between the alignments.