Zarah’s bewilderment wasn’t exactly something Achak had ever encountered, at least not so visibly. Her brows raised and he met her eyes, his right eye twitching ever so slightly in brief uncertainty. Although Achak had a decent enough hold on his composure, every wolf had something to give themselves away. For him, it was his eyes. The almost sickly yellow-green of his eyes had often been enough to deter others from gazing too deeply into them, but they were what often gave him away. For Zarah to have been so willing to meet them, he became very aware that she might be able to read his uncertainty in the situation. He was inwardly relieved when his mention of the tainted water seemed more interesting than his own apparent unusual way of speaking. It marked him as an outsider, he knew.

He turned to face her more, meeting her curiosity with his own. At her words, his lips twitched up into the briefest display of an amused grin. She had a point, but did she need to ask? Achak might have smelt like many places and many things but sickness? Ah, he doubted that. If he had even the slightest stink of sickness on him, Wendigo would not have allowed him to ‘lose’ her so easily. He would have been tended to or given over to the sickness, but certainly not permitted to exist alone.

"Some might find it within themselves to call the essence of a witch a sickness or disease,” he said flatly with thoughts of Wendigo lurking about, "and it’s those some’s that often find themselves at its peril.” A warning despite his tone, his eyes lazily on Zarah’s own as he turned towards her completely in order to face her. He straightened to a posture more fitting for his kind, showing off his lithe body and standing with his head raised to her own level. It was no threat, to be sure, but he’d not let her think him too cautious for too long. In fact, she might have accidentally piqued his interest - she had mentioned sickness, after all. Was sickness a problem in Moladion? Or had she indeed been speaking of the Sisters and their kind?

"I wore the shadow of a witch, it’s true, but now you bask in it, drink it in.” He motioned to the water that swirled away from him and towards her, as if she might be able to see or feel the shadows that swam in it. "To do so, I take it that you who live here lack the presence of a coven” he said in a low voice, to himself, though unashamed had she heard. Achak had little caution in admitting just what he and Wendigo were – in fact, he wanted Wendigo to begin exorcising her power sooner rather than later. Let them flock to her for trinkets and spells and let him search through their sons for guardians and through their daughter’s for Sisters. They had been told to spread and Achak had sworn the oath freely. Wendigo made his heart often curl up like a fist, anxious and on edge, but he would spread the Sisters, nonetheless.

"I will ask that she, the shadow’s caster, take back whatever it is she shed in them,” he said with a dip of his head before he moved to exit the water, "in the meantime, seek sage and eat of it.” He paused. His eyes narrowed in thought for a moment, unsure as to how – or if – he ought to proceed. Should he ask for information? He had already provided information, and with it he had sown the knowledge of Wendigo. But what else? He had not been trained in words so much as the body and so, for some time, he was left in silence, watching her closely as if a word had been caught on the cusp of his lips.