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Niccolo was sure this was the right territory. He had been young when the traitor was banished but the memory of it was burned in his mind -- and in his nostrils. The traitor had ruined everything Niccolo had ever known. The green gamma was sure he was to blame for Danel's disappearance and the general crumbling of the pack afterward, that dark time. Of course he was out for revenge.

The pack had been difficult to find. Its purpose was, apparently, to remain hidden -- much as the Brotherhood's was. The Brotherhood, however, left their territory only to take pups, and for missions like this. Apparently those of this pack were a bit more lenient in leaving and letting others in.

Niccolo spoke to his companions as he stopped in the woods. "This is it." He waited, assuming they would sense it as he did. He wasn't the leader of this operation -- he wasn't quite clear on who was. Perhaps that would need to be decided now. They had simply worked together as brothers until this point, with no need for an appointed head. Their common goal kept them in line.

Okeetee certainly was not hesitant to move to please their new god. He wore his cloak, red mark blazing across the hood, with pride. He was a true brother now, no longer a gangly, anxious adolescent watching from the sidelines. The pride in him, as well as the renewed confidence could easily be seen in his movements, though he was careful to be respectful to those who were his uppers, especially Rummy, himself.

Okeetee was a thoughtful creature, but not nearly as deep as some of the brothers that were cloaked at the same time as he. Eager to please and eager to keep himself in high standing and breathing, he did not hesitate to do what he must or to volunteer.

"Indeed, Brother. For our God." His tail wagged slightly and he seemed to grin beneath the opaque cover over his snout and his golden eyes were bright and eager. He may now be considered an adult and a proper member, but he still had youthful eagerness and vitality.

"They can hide all they want," Dustiel spoke, "but they can't hide their scent. Each of us needs to have a job. Niccolo-" Dustiel looked at the older wolf "I trust you know the traitor's scent? You should worry only about looking for that. Satoru keep your eyes and nose sharp for others. Okeetee, you and I should look for anything else that could prove interesting. They say the traitor liked thiny things, right, Niccolo? He could very well have lost some along the way. We will also be your front lines of defence if Sotoru should raise the alarm."

Dustiel was not at all shy about issuing the orders. Someone in their group needed to, and he dicated them in the best way he knew how - using what he thought would be to theri advantage: Niccolo's knowledge of Rotiart's scent, satoru's alertness and suspicion, Okeetee's eagerness to please, which would surely lead his peer to search avidly and hard. Himself, well,...the micromanager. Extra eyes and a nose to boot as well.
The young wolf dared one of them to question him.

Drover had not been in Tomkin long, but that had never stopped his innate sense of self-confidence before. He would act the same way on this plot of land as he did on any other. The land was the land; he understood pack territories, he just didn't really ascribe to the concept. What he understood was leadership, power... and getting paid.

He wanted to acquaint himself with the land. Not even necessarily the territory, just the land herself, to understand this strange, fertile place. He was used to sand and shrubs, not loam and towering trees, trees so high that the tops were obscured and the lower branches cut out so much of the sun's heat and light. It toyed with his senses; confused his visibility.

But his nose... his nose worked fine, and when he picked up the scent of wolf he trotted confidently in that direction. He felt he had nothing to fear from anyone on this land. He was wrong, but it wouldn't be the first time.

Only a few steps away, Niccolo's ears were not sensitive enough to hear what Dustiel had, but he picked up on the younger one's reactions. He focused his attention in the direction the tan wolf was looking in, and subconsciously dropped his body closer to the ground, hiding in the scrub. He and Dustiel could hide best, with their drab-colored cloaks, though the brilliant red symbol would give them away if seen. Not that Niccolo begrudged wearing it -- he was proud of the twisting sign, like a splash of blood on his forehead; never seeing it but always feeling its weight, the will of his alpha heavy on his head.

Then, he too heard the approaching wolf -- and scented not one but two. His nose, much sharper than his eyes or ears, picked up not only the noisy male but also a hidden female. Subconsciously, he began to growl, and turned to Dustiel, already waiting for more orders.

Drover's feet began to slow. There was a heavy scent of wolf in the air, but no sound reached his ears, not even of movement, and no one stepped out of the bushes to greet him. He knew this was an assassin pack, and probably by nature wary, but something about this situation did not feel right. He chose to keep his mouth shut. For a moment, he debated if he should run back to the center of the territory and tell Aguta of the wolves he sensed, but brushed that thought away; he needed to prove to the alpha that he could do his job here. Instead, he stepped closer to the Brotherhood wolves. He was practically right on top of them, but the desert native was unused to hunting in the heavy cover; he could have stood an inch from the cloaked ones and never seen them.

Okeetee listened diligently to the speaking that went on around him. Ever the listener, he absorbed every word and his mind worked to put every piece into place. He padded silently after Niccolo, but his attention snapped at the obvious approach of another. He did his best, seeking hiding within the shadows and the underbrush of the densely populated forest. Fortunately, he blended rather well, with the darkness of his pelt and newly given cloak.

"A newer member to the pack would make more sense, with as much noise as this one makes. He sounds about as stealthy as a fish flopping in a pile of dead leaves." He snorted his comment in a hushed whisper, keeping his voice low so that only his brothers would hear, as he watched and waited for the strange wolf to come closer. Perhaps his comparison was overly much, but the other certainly did make too much noise to be an experienced assassin.

Dustiel cast a quick 'shut up!' glare to their chatty brother, before speaking up, still hidden however. His voice seemed to come out of no where - the very embodiment of the shadows itself. If nothing else, Dustiel noticed, the area they were in had swell acoustics.

"Such a noisy one - you have stumbled upon the darkest of shadows, what say you?"