Obsidian towers powered through the wet snow, careless of the trenches they left behind. There was no need for stealth upon what he considered his own lands, the hunting grounds upon which his pack had triumphed time and again. It was certain that the herds had completed their migration through the area, but he would routinely still scouting the lowlands, seeking any sign of his prey's return. Stragglers were not uncommon, and despite their dwindling numbers, the cache's and bellies of Round Stone Crest required the same amount of effort to keep filled.

There was little of interest upon the misty air, as was to be expected of such weather conditions. He had hoped that the sunlight would burn away the moisture from the air, yet it seemed the phenomenon was to persist regardless. Perhaps tomorrow would be a better day for this, his mind considered, but as his muscles followed suit, angling his monstrous body to return home, something broke through the haze and flooded his lungs.

There was a foreigner amongst the spectral mist.

Correcting his trajectory once more he continued on his determined path, now seeking predator in place of prey. His pale eyes searched tirelessly, straining against the bleak landscape until they were able to catch upon a darkening gray blotch upon the horizon. Proximity caused this hazy figure to reify, and in short time he was able to make out vital features. His tail hiked higher as his methodical mind assessed the male before him.

A low woof reached out between them, beckoning the other to meet with him. Rogues were always of interest to the king.

The man before him melted downward, assuming a modest display of true submission. The recognition worked immediate magic in moving the other within Gent's good graces, and allowed a level of ease to be felt by the leviathan. While his guard would never be relinquished outside of his own domain (and rarely within, even), he deemed little of the wolf to be threatening unto him. Their vocalizations were absorbed into the heavy mist around them, and silence persisted as he pressed closer, eliminating the distance that remained between them before choosing to speak at last.

"Shitty day, no?" he inquired lightly, glacial eyes parting for a brief moment to sweep across the atmosphere around them. It was a subjective statement, that he was highly aware of. Yet the man utterly despised wetness of any kind, hated the way it snuck past his guard hairs and into the thick of his coat, causing him lasting discomfort. To combine it with the cold was a travesty, nevermind how unpractical all of it was. Any aesthetic pleasure that might be gleaned was completely lost upon the shade king.

"Gent Lieris. What're you doing out in the wasteland?"

Recruitment was an aeonian trade for any alpha, yet Gent felt himself especially hard pressed for good help as of late. As with everything else, the downward trend in numbers amongst Round Stone Crest seemed to have begun with Minka's fall, though he refused to acknowledge that such a connection was valid. Instead, he attributed it to their isolated position amongst the mountainous timbers, as well as the harsh weather that was doled unto them. Considerations that would be addressed with @Raela, come spring, especially if @Kova did not return. Time and again Gent was learning that as much as he loved the rugged, wintry North, it was not conducive to maintaining a healthy pack.

Yet this man was here, without a country nor a shred of assistance to help guard him against the season's wrath. While his body wore the battle scars of such a difficult predicament, he was alive all the same, a testament in itself of this Branwen's constitution. Gent's mind changed gears, no longer considering any possible threats amongst this other's existence, but instead tallying up the many uses he might provide.

"That depends on what your North is," he leveled. Gent would have no problem telling the man what his direction should be, but what mattered most was what this wolf wanted for himself. As much as the king needed male subordinates, he was not so desperate that he would allow his standards to slip.

"You've got yourself headed toward the Crest, at the moment. We're atop the highest point of the timbers, and keep the whole of the mountain. Right now, we're surviving the winter. Come spring, however, things are changing."

Gent's towering ears drank in every word, giving each of them the full consideration they warranted. The mention of swimming ability made him wonder if that included other watery talents, such as fishing, and the possibility of such a likeness caused his thoughts to drift toward @Kova. It was becoming questionable as to whether the prince would even return to the Crest, and Gent was growing increasingly worried about the boy's well being as each week passed without his reappearance. Yet until the snow thawed, he would maintain the hope that the Lagina heir would return for his mother's legacy, and that the plans the king had made with his queen would remain unaltered. Branwen could prove very helpful in ensuring the success of Gent's visions for the future.

The admission of having been placed as lowest previously gave the man reason to pause, but only for a small moment. While such a title was considered shameful and used as a punishment within his experience, he could acknowledge that such a custom could hold a different value for other packs. Curiosity enticed, he reserved judgment as his tongue laid upon the air one further question.

"What made it honorable for you?" he asked, without the taint of incredulity, simply desiring to hear this man's perspective. Perhaps this would be the last of his inquiries, the deciding factor of whether or not Branwen would be considered a place amongst the wolves of Round Stone Crest.