Hekhem stood quite a distance away, his profile low against the undergrowth. The other's rampage had kicked up scents so strong that his own rather obscure one was lost. As he wanted it to be. The american werewolves were so feral and caught up in being wolf-like that they forgot sense and reason. Him, not so much. He was a different breed, his was a gift from the old gods. He started forward, slowly but surely, making sure to use the wind to his advantage, always keeping it against him. They had pounced on the young one and the female was going wild. He scoffed. In reality he would have wanted to ignore them and move on, but he was drawn to the large male. He was a leader, his form and smell radiated power and charisma. The exact kind of werewolf that he needed. Someone to hide behind and feed honeyed words of wisdom to. And Hekhem radiated wisdom. He was of an old breed, he had lived a long life of many paths. He knew just about every lesson there was to learn and he knew it. And though he was proud of himself for surviving so long, he didn't keep any delusions about himself. He had survived so long because he did not.<br/><br/>He was so close that he could see the color of their eyes now. Yet it seemed he had not been spotted. Centuries of sneak leaves no trace, it leaves no clues. Had they been mortals he could have killed them all and be gone before they noticed anything wrong. But they were not. This was a dangerous breed, for they seldom thought before their actions. The would need him as much as he would them. He took a silent leap onto the scene, keeping his head lower than the obvious alpha. Not that it was hard. Hekhem was no wolf, more of a jackal. He was slender and built for dexterity rather than brute force. There was snaps of tendons and the creaking of muscles as he grew from jackal into his shifted form. He kept his head low, but there was a smile playing on his face that could be read in many ways. The mixed colors of black and gold streaked his fur, casting something of a dried out look over the strange were-creature.<br/><br/>"Your howls and feasting can be heard from across the border, esteemed alphas. Not to mention the mewling of this pup..."<br/><br/>He cast an amused eye on the young werewolf on the ground before he met the alpha male's eyes. He was unsure of how these werewolves looked on such displays, but he was sure however that he could dodge whatever they threw at him and sprint away in a speed unmatched so far over the centuries.<br/><br/>"Dax and Fey. You leave quite a trace after you. Tracking you have not been hard..."<br/><br/>He kept the tone as neutral as possible, his muscles tensed up. It could not be seen, but he was wind up like a spring, ready to leap whichever way if they decided to take offence. Seeing how aggressive they were in most cases, they probably would. But he had to assert himself. It had to be clear to them that he was<em>useful</em>, not to<em>be used</em>. He could submit, but he would<em>not</em>be a slave or tool.<br/><br/>"So how about we have a chat, no? There are mutual benefits to be found." His words were human, but the way he said them was unnatural in some way, as if they grew out of him rather than were spoken. He was a fusion of man and beast, and as such he could be both in equal measure, almost seamless. "Although I guess you would rather pounce me like this one, I was not born yesterday. You may look down upon me in every way, but I always demand respect for my wisdom and age at least."<br/><br/>His eyes betrayed nothing. He didn't feel fear or awe even though he had probably just pissed off that crazy bitch. But he knew Dax still had something resembling reason within him. And if nothing else, he was the faster sprinter and could keep up the pace far longer than they could.