A battle in the home, the body and soul, Argus is all grace that their years allows them. Walking this world for so many years allows at least this; a guait that is all predatory and wrapped in nonchalance. In air that buzzes with danger - insanity, and enough sense to reclaim some of the calm before a dust storm, to rip flesh from bone. They keep mostly to the deserts, the borders; Acting as a force to intercept to opposing sides of what many lay claim to the pit's inner camp and their outer territory. Rouges and pittians, the world- and the pitt. It's a mentality that Argus never bothered with - but something their instinct enforced all the same.

The stench of their old home, salt, and lush jungle - whisper across their senses and makes something in the wolf ache in memory. The wrappings around their left wing is gone now, not fully healed but enough to move- streatch out lazily every moment alone. Argus shifts their attention towards the border, spotting the small feline along the border gives them half the mind to fly- to soar and get there before any others from either group can.

They don't need to fly to get there first, as it seems no one was close enough to intercept Argus' focus. Dull red eyes look on to the stranger. The frown across their face with merit- trying to tamper down nostalgia and the most recent encounter with the typhoon leader. They shake their head softly, making note of the cloak that covers them. "Smart move, if nothing else. Though coming here with that scent? Isn't." The wolf intones, their voice a low timbre akin to a growl, not in their nature to be outright unfriendly Zactov or friendly Whispers.

"What can i help ya with?"

Honesty, something to be valued, cherished. In such a climate like this- to such a beast as Argus. It was something suspicious, something made by either the naive or the cunning. After all, what hid a lie better than a good truth? Maybe they were earnests, but it was hard to tell, impossible even to some. Argus knows some who crown themselves kind of lies and trauma - who tells lies by weaving only half truths.

But this ignorance to Goldie's last acts against the pitt - painted a clearer picture. "so which do you claim loyalty to, your sister or the rest of your family in the typhoon?" They are persistent, their tone suddenly sharper. Attempting to aid them if nothing else. Cut ties with the typhoon - if you come here. Goldie will proclaim you a traitor but you may be safer here then, Argus has yet to be under suspect. Not that goldie has aided them in keeping their past loyalties under wraps.

"The good captain has made a made a line in the sand and crossed it herself. Our home burns because of it. Tell me- did the good captain know your sister lived here when she took flame to the jungle?" The wolf lets the tension bleed into their form, the white wolf towering over the fine once now looms menacingly. Just as quickly as argus pulls their anger, they release it. In a breath all the fur lies back, their agression bleeding away into something relaxed. Aware. Red eyes bore into the child - because surly this is a child, playing in a very dangerous game they had no idea they were walking to.

"It would be wise to leave now, hide your scent. Come back without it. For both you and your sister - it's safer" The wolf mutters their eyes drifting from the small child's to the rest of the clan's terrain- barren of others for the moment. "We are still slavers. Even reformed, we are not above using you both as leverage if the need arises" The wolf nods. "if you truly wish to see your sister safe."

distant gods will laugh and bicker among themselves, an inner monologue of running commentary. They will look on, pushing pieces to an elaborate game that they hold all the pieces to, watching- waiting for it all to fall into perfect aliment; A perfect disaster pushing their chosen champions over and over until they lie dead- bleeding, until the amusement fades and there is nothing but apathy. Where they can withdraw, dust off their forges and create something new to torment, to destroy as equally as they create. Gods created with nothing but their attributes, death, space, stars, voids.

Argus is a Mortal God, if such a thing was ever true. Nothing like the celestials that ruled with apathy, or the voided ones who consume hungrily until nothing remains. They have lived eons paw to paw step with mortals. A god made, not created is such a damning thing. Hungry and eager, tired and looking to prove themself - they were not young. But every single year was felt in every name carved into their soul, every soul consumed - raging against the amalgamation of experiences they all combined to make: Argus.

Argus was an unstoppable force, to say that nothing has stopped them yet. Gods have attempted to slay, and have in turn be slain by the beast that now bleeds black. Ruby eyes once shone blue now only see in red. Red on their paws, red in the battles around them - the strife they cause. Argus has never once- been stopped. Clans have turned to dust and family have been lead to ruin - Argus has played both the sinner and the malevolent end to both in tandem. Argus can be killed, argus has been killed more times than they can count - some by their own hand: but stopped? No.

The child rattles in front of them, stubborn and true - bleeding innocence that will be snatched away with - robbed by the death of everyone they care for. It happened in Argus- it happened in a place just like the Pitt- so familiar to home and yet not. In bleeding clarity the Shinigami sits in silence, as the other rants- raves. bleeding and vicious little thing - and realizes that she is just a child. They are all - children playing games fighting for not what is right but what is fair - in a world rigged with apathetic all might gods and powerless, worthless mortal gods who watch it all from ground zero.

Something in the wolf twitches under the typhooner's - (the realist - the loyal brave - foolish little thing they are-) under stella's harangue. A shudder runs through their entire form. "My loyalties are for me to ascertain- the good captain made it clear I am not welcomed in the typhoon - nor do i wish to return to it." Stiff joints relaxing as a tension bleeds away- as their wings collapse to their sides and a careful roll of shoulders before pulling back. "You ask me why i am warning you - because you are a child who plays a game that will surly kill everyone around you." Argus replies, her voice no longer soft or sharp - monotone. Relaxed in the way only the most trained can detect. A readiness in keeping you're body relaxed for a fluid unexpected strike. "you're foolishness will cost someone their life - you would be lucky if it was only you're own."

"such a fuckin' headache" They shake their head softly - "If your sister is here- i'm not sure I've seen 'er in more than passin' you looking for her?" The jerk their head- right wing arching out from their back towards the jugnle "most of the pitt concentrates within the jungle. You're best bet is there."