Whatever Loki was thinking, it was obvious he was unimpressed with Thorne. Not that it phased the Darkbringer in the slightest. Hadn't he been scorned his entire life? His very existence had been an affront to his zealot father. A mere annoyance to his mother, for he was a fighter from the get go. Came out screaming, they said, scornfully, as if his brazen voice was soothing to be ashamed of. Meanwhile they cowered in the shadows of Glorall while Blackthorne ranged the land openly. Despised, but openly nonetheless. The noble wolves of Molodian didn't really know what to think. Kill him? Strike him? Bargain with him? Try to guilt him?

It might work, any of them, with the right circumstances.

Loki was a bit odd yet who was he to judge? Blackthorne was a smooth talker yet prone to his own mercurial mood swings. Not to mention he had some crazy wolves in his band of acolytes. He hums a bit in agreement with what Loki says, more as a cajoling method to keep him talking. Did wolves EVER give straight answers? He is not sure if Loki has been around honest wolves all his life until recently or just expects the world to be an honest place.

The blunt statement is given another smooth chuckle, amusement in those charcoal eyes. Such a practical creature. "Well, for starters, loyalty." He pauses to assess Loki with that enigmatic smile. "Or information. Since I am giving you information I'm not sure that you can give me much, sadly," he adds with a fake pout, though he shrugs at the end. "I am the alpha of Iromar and currently recruiting. You seem a bit put out, night crawler, but I could always use a bit of brawn and muscle."

Yet when Loki starts spouting off information, the moment his father's name leaves his lips, Blackthorne's smile vanishes. Instead his silver cowlick rises as does the rest of his obsidian fur and then his body, tail dripping water as he stands menacingly with a low growl in his throat. Not directed at Loki, but at the wall nearby, his thoughts churning. Putting it all together. Underidge, son of Enderly, father of Loki and... Shadowstorm? The names were spinning. He had mentioned a brother named Silas. So.. two uncles? No, three. His eyes trace back to Loki, assessing him now coldly, calculating and clinical.

"Underidge." The name comes out low, a soft hiss, disgust in that very word. "What a twist of fate, Loki. It appears that luck is in your favor. It is nice to meet you, uncle." He says the word in a twisted way, emphasizing it, waiting for the clues to click into his uncle's brain.

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