Smell differently? Seen a lot? Even Morgan couldn’t refuse an amused smirk at that comment, though the other man’s mention of being on the chopping block made Morgan’s brow twitch up. He narrowed his eyes in suspicion as he took another good look at him – he didn’t seem that old, at least not as old as Morgan. It was there, though – the suggestion of a long-lived life. Morgan did have to concede that the other man wasn’t a whelp at least, but even then, he kept his suspicion close. The old man did allow himself to relax though, disarmed by Exodus’ humor in any case. If he had been intending to cull Morgan right then and there, the man doubted he’d do so after looking so uncertain anyway. Killers weren’t uncertain, that he knew.

"Exodus,” he said, testing the name. "Old and grey like me and not a pack wolf, hm? There a lot like you around here?” He looked away then, surveying the landscape around them and giving the air a few curious sniffs. Yes, he supposed there were other wolf scents about, but it was difficult to discern pack from stray without context. What packs existed, and what marked them? He puffed out a breath suddenly and turned his attention back to Exodus. He looked at him long and hard, weighing things up, before he finally spoke again.

"Aye, name’s Morgan.” For him, that was a big deal. At least, Morgan thought so. Hell, it meant he had at least some intention to...know Exodus, as it were. The stranger who had made Morgan do so poorly at his concealment had proven to be amiable enough, and not a pack-lackey. Morgan hated admitting it but he had to – Exodus was likely a useful fellow to know. It was easier to get about without connections, sure, but Morgan needed Ella to be something other than a wild creature. That meant he needed to know what to teach her, or others to do that teaching for him.

He moved further down the rocks, slow going as it was, but he eventually made it to a more level ground. He gave his legs a quick stretch, finally able to see Exodus squarely. The sheer size of him made Morgan smirk in amusement. Well, it was a first. Wolves that large? They seldom came across them lest they be the outlier in some band of hunters or warrior – too large to feed, too dangerous to keep around if they were your son or not. The scars that peppered Exodus’ body gave Morgan an inkling on how he’d lasted so long at that size.

"I’ve got a daughter out there,” he said with a flick of his head towards nowhere in particular, "so where should a man keep their daughters from roaming off to here?” In truth, Ella was not of his blood, but a daughter nonetheless. In his life, he’d found that men of his age often cared about daughters even if they hadn’t any themselves. He had to hope that was true in Moladion too – it'd be quicker to use Ella’s name to unearth the dangerous parts of the land than his own.