Scoff was given to nothing and no one in particular given that he was quite alone, replaying the conversation he'd had with Custard upon the topic of leaving Flightless Falcons. It was useless to continue analyzing it, Sveinx knew, but he couldn't help it. To say he hadn't felt slightly offended and betrayed by his brother's outright refusal would be a lie. Custard's unwillingness to accompany him on his grand adventure left an unpleasant sting upon his heart, as if his litter-mate and closest brother had stolen it from his chest and drug it across a bed of razor wire. They were supposed to be partners in crime. Now it was just, Sveinx in crime and Custard the home-body. Where was the fun in that? Whatever the cost it was done, Sveinx had left Flightless Falcons, albeit with a heavy heart. Saying goodbye had been measurably hard, admittedly. Yet, Sveinx felt that it was the best choice for him. Stepping out of the shadows of his older brothers. Aether and March Owl were getting older, and would name their successor(s) soon enough, but Sveinx knew he stood no chance. He was not Aether's first choice because he was too much trouble, and though he had never gotten his mother's stance on where he stood in the long line of possible heirs to the helm Sveinx felt it probably wasn't very high. He had never shown a particular interest in leading, anyway, however he knew himself well enough to know that he would feel judged as another sibling was named Alpha over him and that was sure to induce a jealousy he did not want to feel but knew he would anyway. He was only a man, after all. He wasn't beyond petty feelings, he wasn't mechanical. He had strove to be accepted in his large family, just like his other siblings, longing to know that his parents approved of him, but there were too many shadows that he lived in; and though Sveinx knew that he was loved by Aether and March Owl he knew he had to try to find a home, a niche...somewhere else.

Having grown up in Flightless Falcons, and having stayed within the pack until his ultimate decision to distinguish himself and leave it, he had accompanied March Owl on a few border patrols when his mother had taught him how to be a Guardian, he had been there to witness a few acceptances of potential members. The questions March Owl had asked seemed pretty generic to him, and he knew the basis of what would, likely, be required. Name, Skills, and probably – though this was the question he hated the most – Why. Leaders seemed to like to ask that question and Sveinx's salmon pink tongue flicked out to draw across his leathery black nose almost nervously as large, white paws carried him closer to the borders of a pack, stopping when he was a respectful distance away from them, his mouth feeling dry. If it was a question asked of him what was he supposed to say? He did not know anything of any of these packs so he could say that he was intrigued or that he felt it would fit him best. Those, while likely better answers, would be lies and Sveinx detested lying. Besides, he wasn't very good at it, anyway, so in his lacking of the lying skill he favored honesty even though this, likely, cost him sometimes. As much as everyone claimed to value and want honesty he found that it left a potent sting and often left him feeling resented because the truth hurt.

Poison apple green irises studied the forest for a few silent heartbeats, in which he could hear it thump steady within it's prison of flesh and bone. It reminded him a little of home. Ignoring the swell of what he might have admitted was homesickness within his chest, he let out a short call letting out his interest, patiently waiting for the arrival of either a leader or a pack member.