He'd abandoned his temporary underground safehouse a week ago in the middle of the night. He'd grown far too comfortable there, and put everything at risk. He had carefully hidden his backtrail as he'd traveled, and obsessively checked and rechecked the area around himself to see if he was being followed. He had neither slept, nor eaten, very much in the days since then. Stopping long enough to sleep without it being completely secured was dangerous, and hunting took far too much attention from his surroundings. He hadn't yet found someplace secure enough to hole up so he'd had to continue on. Walking along the bottom of the ravine was a nervewracking experience - he felt trapped, only able to go forward or back. If something went sour he would have nowhere to escape. But he had not been able to find an easy way around it, so there was little choice in the matter. It made him paranoid, jumping at every little sound. A rock tumbled from the side of the ravine, and he flinched, whirling to face it, but there was nothing there and no way up or down the wall from this part of the ravine anyway. He'd passed a zig-zagging route down the wall a while back much like the one he'd used to climb down here, but it was on the wrong side of the ravine from where he was trying to go. He stopped, stock still, forcing himself into calm before he could continue.

Where was his brother? Was it just bad luck, or was his brother trying to cover his trail as well as the prey he was seeking? He had found that male, that boy who knew Italian with his family, but that was all he had found. Others did not speak Italian, and he did not speak their language, though he was learning thanks to Starling. So he simply traveled, for the time being, perhaps searching for others that spo- he frozen. the scent, that scent suddenly drifting towards him. He knew that scent. Eyes wide, he stepped forward a few steps, and opposite in the distance stood a man he was very, very familiar with. Enrico. What? How? Why. He knew what he was supposed to do, but he found himself frozen, unable to move. He knew the man would recognize him; he was too similar to his brother, anyways, even if Enrico didn't remember him personally... which he probably did, considering it was Enrico. A soft whine, inaudible to the man, would leave the younger wolf. "Enrico. Cosa... cosa ci fai qui?" he asked, his voice surprisingly strong for the inner turmoil within him. He tried to step forward, but no, his limbs refused. But that would not last, as he dropped his gaze. Slowly, it would rise back up. "Perché?" he cried. It was less than tactful, less than the smooth gentleman he was supposed to me, and more the broken boy that had been created when Enrico betrayed the cosca.

"Speech" Italiano

Nerves stretched nearly to the breaking point, it was his name being spoken that snapped the tension into something... else. He'd frozen as Vittore did, his fur for a moment bristling in aggressive alarm, but that snapping of tension was like a bucket of cold water to his face, bringing him back to himself as he had not been for some time now. This was a danger he could see, could face, and it was almost a sobbing relief after all the running to be toe to toe with an enemy. Or rather, to be the enemy. He knew how the Cosca worked. He had broken Omertà; no survivor of the i Fratelli Rossi would ever again consider him as anything but Pentiti again. His life was fair game; he was the enemy. So when Vittore's words processed, Enrico was momentarily confused. Vittore should be attacking him, not asking him questions. It was somehow more chilling than an attack. Just the sight of Vittore, the reminder of all those who might be alive now if he had not brought them into the Cosca, if he had not betrayed them, it choked him. That the boy would not attack him on sight, that was... unthinkable. "Ha importanza, Vittore?" he murmured bitterly across the distance between them. "Era fatto. Non si può tornare indietro." His jaw twitched as a swiftly suppressed emotion flitted across his visage, a brief glimmer of his rage quickly controlled again. "Non per nessuno di noi."