Just as she had been given to humour him, he too gave out the slightest hint of a chuckle at her mention of fate. He wondered, albeit briefly, if something like Fate would bother to lead any one individual to something as mundane as a pack border. Was Fate not something beings used to justify their misery or to validate their own supremacy? Nobody ever claimed fate had fed them or had given them a place to rest. It was no surprise that the idea of having been lead to something as simple as a boundary made him amused. "For me," he jested once more with an eye having slid towards her, "it was not fate that lead me to you, simply duty." Dry was a suitable word to describe him.

He could sense suspicion from her and yet, he barely acknowledged it besides from the slightest tilt of an eyebrow. It was to be expected, after all. He had become accustomed to being looked at with such a gaze - who could blame any other? He often wore the scent of more than one territory, often spoke seldom and posed submissively in contrast to his intense watchfulness; he would have been suspicious of himself in any other case, he had to admit. Besides, she was young and winter was a heavy blanket cast across Moladion. There was little he could do to ease her suspicion but he attempted to do so nonetheless, relaxing his posture and allowing her freedom in her steps.

She had questions, of course. They always had questions. It made his ear flick, his breath hoarse with non-surprise for a moment as he sighed. They liked to ask about his father, liked to ask about the pack, but he had little in the ways of answers: what was his father like? Less a father, more a conspirator. What was Glorall like? Less a pack, more an organization. Ranks within ranks, plans within plans. He was thankful - as per his relieved sigh - when she cut herself off.

At her mention of a race, his lip twitched up in amusement. "You be the prey," his voice was flat, his ears having pushed back as he readied himself to take off in her steps. The moment she had darted off, he had followed suit and yet, not once did he make an earnest effort to keep pace. Instead, he allowed himself to enjoy the surge of adrenaline, his eyes locked onto her as they charged through the underbrush and sandy loam. His siblings and he had played games like this once upon a time - he had always enjoyed the hunt and this was no different.

He moved to rush alongside her, guiding her subtly towards the clearest area of the shore - safe, known, but unlikely to be bothered by any other. He had found himself somebody to play with and for now, he had little interest in handing her over to his father just yet. The moment their paws hit the sand though? That's when he'd make his move and lunge for her back legs, albeit without his teeth, in hopes of sending her into the soft sand. She had wanted to see the beach, no? What better way to see it than through the eyes of having been momentarily bested? His intention was clear enough: she was providing an interesting challenge and he was curious as to just how far that challenge could go.