Oh, what a serious one she is . . . Kershov flicked one of his ears in amusement, not expecting Hestia to combat his playful banter with such cold annoyance. Had she been insulted by his harmless flirtation? Or perhaps, more likely, she saw her looks as a weapon, something she had complete control over, and thus felt uneasy when somebody dismissed them as nothing more than useless aesthetics. She did not want to be seen as lovely--she wished to be a deadly tool, appreciated for her skills and only her skills. Very well: Kershov understood perfectly that beauty and danger were not mutually exclusive. He simply hoped this fiery wolfess carried a sliver of humor in her lithe body. Such a shame that his wish wouldn't be granted. "Not to worry, Madame. Belittling your talent for violence by complimenting your physical attributes was never my intention. I merely enjoy appreciating finely crafted weapons when I see them." If the polar monster still possessed both fathomless onyx eyes he might have winked at her; instead the Regal inclined his head, a vague teasing expression tugging at his muzzle like a naughty child with the string of a kite.

Beneath his paw, the dainty young girl showed no outward signs of fear. Ker's diligent gaze noted the way her tassel flicked behind her--an unconscious reaction--but her high voice portrayed nothing but determination. "Be careful when you make promises, young one. I highly doubt that you'd do anything I ask of you . . ." The potentially threatening sentence trailed away like ice water. Abruptly the Alpha's demeanor shifted. "I can see that you're a decent girl. You might make a good friend to another little soldier here in our ranks." It was just as likely that the she-pup and Roheryn would despise each other--except Ker did not especially care.

Hestia spat out another speech. Kershov turned his gaze toward her once more, amazed at how carefully she held herself, the energy that quivered beneath her white-clad flesh. The alabaster gangster was struck by her pure, furious, zealous hunger to make Abendrot the greatest pack of them all. This was a fatale he could rely on until her final breath--not that her death would come any time soon, as she'd no doubt murder any who crossed her. Briefly Ker pondered what her foreign tongue could mean . . . yet the curiosity tucked itself away in his brain to be picked apart at a later date. For now he would accept Hestia as she was; no good breaking a toy too early. "Noble words," the Alpha rumbled smoothly. "Very well. You and the whelp are free to do as you please within the territory."

With that, Kershov nodded to them both and ghosted away back into the shadows of the forest, his paws as silent as if they pounded on snow.