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?"