Is this a murder mystery?

Gilgamesh listens with an amused smile as Modesty comments about Sid and Cal being capable of tending to the pack. "Sid, I trust with my life. Cal on the other paw..," he teases quietly as he leads Modesty up the last bit of ramp to the entrance of their treehouse. Once inside, he lets out a breath of relief, one ear still listening to Mod ruminate on the Syndicate's choice of decoration. This bit of information piques his interest, a brow raised in question as he glances at her.

"You would think one's scent is enough to keep enemies out," he muses, a twinge of mischief in his expression, "but when has that ever stopped the likes of myself?" Gilgamesh question, perhaps providing enough reason as to why a pack would put up extra defenses to keep strangers out. "Thankfully we have enough rodents here for them to practice that aren't infested with diseases," his nose wrinkles at the idea of his pups eating rats or weasels that had been feasting upon rotting corpses. Not on his watch.

He wastes no time going to their private rooms, heading straight for the furs that make up their bed. With the pups old enough now to sleep in a pile on their own in a separate room, it was nice to have privacy back once more. Once Modesty is laid back beside him, Gilgamesh gently curls himself around her, resting his chin over her shoulders, his eyes closing softly as he lets out a sigh. "I do not believe this Syndicate is as fearsome as Artorias is leading them on to be. As long as everyone leaves them alone, I'm sure they'll keep to themselves," his words are thoughtful, even if a little dismissive. Or maybe just plain stupid. Was it smart to brush them off? Probably not. But now... it was something he needed.