Stopping short to the sound of approach, Nate held his ground at the appearance of a newcomer.

He'd heard the tone of voice, Before. Plenty of times. Stranger in town, mixed-blood plain on his features, and even pa's blue eyes wouldn't save Nate the treatment of a stray.

Mithwyth had warned him to be careful around other wolves' claims, and he supposed it would be too much to hope that a change in shape would preclude the violence of prejudice.

An ear flicked back. But there was still time to try at kindness. So Nate smiled warmly, instead, Come now, brother, being curious is no crime, is it? A tilt of the head, noticing the crudely healed wound but making no particular show of doing so. Nate Ronan, at your service. I smelled the blood, worried someone needed help.

Still those pale eyes didn't waver in meeting gaze — a sort of quiet challenge echoed back, even without a growl to answer. Nate wasn't afraid, whether or not others would say he ought to be. After dying once already, it sort of took the uncertainty out of things.