The irritation was obvious, from the laughter to the lift of his lip. Aleksei only watched with his steel-like gaze, sharp and cutting, hoping that he had, in fact, hit a nerve. He offered his own snort in response—the fool could help from afar, maybe piss on the borders a little. Feel at home for a bit. “We'll see.” If he really wanted to provide for the cubs, maybe he could go catch some of his kin for the caches—mice were plentiful, after all. “I think you underestimate Lachesis and me.” 

A deep frustration settled in the pit of Aleksei's stomach at the thought of three litters. Discovering Kisla's pregnancy had been a relief (they would be real Hearthwood pups, the most important), but it also rose a lot of questions. Who was the father? Why had Kisla not told any one? She was free to do as she wished, in a sense. She was not a child like Inna, barely risen to adult ranks, but it was still questionable. Concerning, even. Was that why the young Baranski had been given such a small punishment? Would it be hypocritical to chase away the girl? No, he had told himself over and over. No, it wouldn't be. Kisla had a right to breed, and Inna had none.

“Lorcán,” he repeated, committing the man's name to memory. Lorcán. “Enjoy your meal.” He spoke of the hare that had been picked up—Aleksei hadn't even noticed it 'til now—with a slight smile, an insincere one that didn't quite reach his eyes. 

He had the scent. Now there was a face, a name and a haunt.

Perhaps it was time to speak to his friends in the west.

Without another word, not even a farewell, Aleksei turned for the borders, leaving Lorcán to go on his way. Don't get too comfortable.