It was far too difficult to suppress the quiet little hum as it rolled in her throat, neither a growl nor a purr but a sound of pondering as she considered and assessed everything that was happening and all that was being said. Long gone were the years when she'd had to have these kinds of conversations on a weekly basis with her rivals, and it would be fair to say she missed them. She missed the negotiating and the struggle for power, but what she loved more than the struggle was the victory.

"Kjors is too much like his father." A slip of the tongue might have given up her relationship to the male, but the ever cool exterior made it almost seem deliberate. "He would be too proud to risk letting someone else interfere with his... business." That was the flaw in her late husband that had ultimately proven his downfall. When trouble came knocking he wanted to deal with it three-on-one. Avari was all too happy to let him, it prevented the asking of questions as to why she didn't help.

"Perhaps I'm out of line for asking, you have your own people to worry about." It was with a polite bow of her head that she conceded some form of defeat, nose turned to the ground for just a moment before it rose again with that arrogant little tilt and but one lash of the tail sparked her tongue into motion gain. "You might instead tell me, then--" and she was deliberately obvious with her probing tones "Where an old bitch might settle with ease for the winter." Point me in the right direction, at least. "Should I climb a mountain, or follow a river?"

Perhaps the elder had slipped up in her words, daring to hint that she and Kjors' father might have ever shared a relationship. Perhaps it was not obvious at first glance that the boy carried her genetics, and that was to her benefit. She could handle the thought of him knowing he was being hunted by an older woman. The news that it was his own mother though? She'd much rather that come as a surprise on the day their paths crossed once again. Presuming of course that it ever came, that the boy she remembered did not run and cower.

"Something tells me we know the same Kjors." Amused, always studying this still unnamed woman with a quiet clicking of her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "He is proud, he merely has nothing to be proud of." Not that she would know, but her mind had already drawn a picture of a gangly, mangy and underwhelming wolf whimpering at the paws of his superiors on a daily basis.

Her drawing had two eyes however, and news struck her ears that this had come to change. One-eyed wolves? She hid the tension on her face by turning it to look about with her gaze settling on the distant mountain. Of course. Nothing like a nice flat stroll through the fields. Suppose she could go around, but what good would that do her?

"I'm sure they are very lovely wolves." Oddly, her voice softened, perhaps having found some comfort in the fact that the conversation was coming to a close, something she was more than content to admit now that she had a direction - some information. It was what she'd been looking for and graciously received. "Unfortunately one of them is not." Whipping her head back around to face the other woman, she offered the slightest of bows.

"My gracious thanks." Rising again, and rising as tall as she would have done had she still an empire of her own, she offered little else, and there was little she could give beyond what she had already sworn. Secrecy of course, to take the face and place of where she'd learned these details to her ever nearing grave. Unless she were stopped - unless there was something else to be added, the aged woman would turn, and start to the other side of the mountain. The games were only just beginning...