For a second the man perched on horseback gets a look from the Philodox. Like Jack doesn't quite understand what claim he has on this place, on all this open space that is legally White land. To Jack, it looks like it might even be the horse that has more of a claim.
The Philodox recognizes a different law.
But he does glance at Tamsin as she gives introductions. He's still leaking clotted flesh from his side and down to his jeans, but at least he doesn't seem to be bleeding anymore.
He finally looks like he's going to pipe up when Hector does. Thankfully. Because who knows what he would have to say. But Calden has seen this game before, when Jack starts like he's going to say something, but someone else speaks instead. Not as confrontational as the night they'd met Fern the tainted cub. Quiet beginning of words and phrases like growls he never intends on finishing anyway. "I'ma packm-," Rackin'-frackin'-varmint-Yosemite-Sam, if you're a Looney Tunes fan. "We all ain't goin'-," says the bloodied Bone Gnawer, finally letting the fabric fall back over that open wound to his side. "'House nice and I ain't-," this a note of deferment in his scratched washboard of a voice. Of deferment, but not much.
There is a stink, but there isn't much mess, the back of a motorcycle having gone far toward drying on the caked human waste. "I jus'-" and he's only made it a step or two from that gate by the time Hector has started apologizing and explaining and introducing. Ingrid's bow and words finally get an answer. Jack is starting to look frustrated. Calden had seen this before as well. And he finally withdraws, shutting up as Hector says what he can't nicely.
Hector had already started leading them out.
So when Ingrid turns around to leave, and his alpha is already making toward doing so - seeing as he's the one he'd come to for cleansing - Jack gives a sniff as he looks around the land, then back up at Calden, then down at the horse, before finally heading on out as well. "Hos-p-frickin'-hell-these-people-talitly," grumbling again.
The Philodox recognizes a different law.
But he does glance at Tamsin as she gives introductions. He's still leaking clotted flesh from his side and down to his jeans, but at least he doesn't seem to be bleeding anymore.
He finally looks like he's going to pipe up when Hector does. Thankfully. Because who knows what he would have to say. But Calden has seen this game before, when Jack starts like he's going to say something, but someone else speaks instead. Not as confrontational as the night they'd met Fern the tainted cub. Quiet beginning of words and phrases like growls he never intends on finishing anyway. "I'ma packm-," Rackin'-frackin'-varmint-Yosemite-Sam, if you're a Looney Tunes fan. "We all ain't goin'-," says the bloodied Bone Gnawer, finally letting the fabric fall back over that open wound to his side. "'House nice and I ain't-," this a note of deferment in his scratched washboard of a voice. Of deferment, but not much.
There is a stink, but there isn't much mess, the back of a motorcycle having gone far toward drying on the caked human waste. "I jus'-" and he's only made it a step or two from that gate by the time Hector has started apologizing and explaining and introducing. Ingrid's bow and words finally get an answer. Jack is starting to look frustrated. Calden had seen this before as well. And he finally withdraws, shutting up as Hector says what he can't nicely.
Hector had already started leading them out.
So when Ingrid turns around to leave, and his alpha is already making toward doing so - seeing as he's the one he'd come to for cleansing - Jack gives a sniff as he looks around the land, then back up at Calden, then down at the horse, before finally heading on out as well. "Hos-p-frickin'-hell-these-people-talitly," grumbling again.