Rory kept silent as the interrogation lingered on. He?d said enough, said about as much he figured he could manage without exploding. It was hard enough to keep his expression warm and somewhat concerned. Each statement out of the boy?s mouth gave birth to a new blasphemy and hinted at the presence of a dozen others. The boy clicked with Hunt, that was easy enough to see, and as the conversation wore on, Rory realized that there could have been no other outcome. Rory could reach no basic common ground with this boy because no such ground existed. They might as well have spoken different languages. Rory still hadn?t quite gotten over the boy?s admission, that?d he?d liked being Charlie, that he?d liked being some collared pet. There was no pride here, no sense of self worth, nothing whatsoever, just one desperate bid to survive after the other. Rory knew of struggles to survive, but not like this, never like this. In the deepest woods, even when the winters were cold and food was scarce, the warg, and the wolf paramount among them, maintained a certain dignity, a certain nobility even. The realities were harsh, yes, savage even at times, but never in a way they?d felt made them lesser. But these city wargs? there was something here that Rory could not quite grasp, even as he listened to Hunt reassure the boy and draw him further and further out.
Some of the Red children expressed dismay over the plight of city wargs, others didn?t even consider them kin, thinking them too far gone from the uncorrupted stock to be called brethren in truth. Rory had never counted himself among the latter group, warg was warg, regardless of upbringing. That must still be true, yes, but perhaps the gulf... while not insurmountable, was wider than Rory cared to admit. That life as a house pet might be the... the better fate of a street urchin, it set something hot and wild through the young copper's blood, something like outrage, something like fury. He'd lived in Oldtown for some years now, but isolated in a sense, wrapped up in a community that ran true old warg to the core, that had marked out its territory and pushed to expand those borders even now. They'd counted city wargs among their number, true enough, but they'd shown them way of things also, like teaching fool cousins the proper way to speak their words and hold themselves like civilized folk. To think that they might have their own ways and customs, stamped into them by the human yoke? was very nearly repugnant.
The interview came to an end, the boy gave a name, an adult, a ring leader, a human, and for his part, Hunt made a promise, a promise that shocked both Rory and the boy. Rory's glance lingered long on the large man, lingered even after they'd left the boy and Hunt made his report to Ackerman and she let out the call for the others to return to the station. As those who departed made their way back to base, Rory took a moment of offer a few words, about as conciliatory as his mood would allow," You were... good, in there, with the boy. Didn't think he'd give a name, didn't expect plenty for that matter.... He's right, you know? Warg don't name babes, who knows a babe? A pack, a people, give a name, shows they know you, and if you've neither... you name yourself, but... but that's rare and rarer. Why'd no one take that boy, Hunt, no one till you? He's healthy, he's sharp, why'd none claim him?"
