The moment our eyes met, I could feel the suspicion radiating off of him. For that I couldn't really blame him - a mature, strong pack wolf had cut off his path. It would seem that he saw straight through my ploy to divert his attention from the shewolf who he had been following, his reaction somewhat unexpected, but only serving to further pique my interest regarding him. Maybe my drive to 'save' this wolf were ill placed - he might be fully well aware of what he was walking into, a willing participant in the disreputable deeds of the Iromarian clan. Yet he was young, and there was a determination in the tone of his voice that held me firmly in my place. He was not easily fooled, but I was no easier to deter from my intentions. Something about this young male called to me, whether it was the reflection of a stormy sky in his pelt or the distinctly primordial visage that seemed almost familiar in some way, like he could be a distant cousin.

Dropping the act of innocence, I decided my best bet was to take a more austere approach to the situation. My brows lowered slightly, the lift of my tail becoming stiff and my neck arching slightly. There was no threat in my stance, but my body language spoke to the unmistakable authority of a pack leader. He was not a wolf to be fooled with games, and with his demonstration of that I would afford him the respect he was due. "Somewhere," I echoed, "called Iromar." It wasn't a question, but a statement of fact gleaned from observation. "Somewhere where children are held hostage as a means to an end." I watched his features, keenly aware of any shift therein. Had this wolf he was trailing told him as much and he was ok with the notion, or had she left that detail out?

He had no reason to believe me, a wolf he had only just met, who he knew nothing about. But what I spoke was the truth as far as I knew it, my tone sincere in a way it hadn't been before - perhaps the thing that had betrayed my earlier guise for exactly what it was. I spoke with the confidence of an alpha, that which had developed in me over years of training even if my ascension had only been recent. Perhaps it was enough to introduce at least a sliver of doubt in his mind about the wolf he trailed. What it was about this young male that drove me so to change his course, I couldn't quite pinpoint. Maybe it was the absence of warrior types gracing a mountain that had so long given birth to those adept for the role - as I was. As he was. I could see the promise, the potential in this young male's not yet mature physique. What remained to be seen was whether he had a mind to match it, or if his was a twisted type that perhaps belonged to the moors already, who did not care how others suffered at their hands. Either way, I wasn't ready to let him go just yet.