"You'd best always get permission before entering packlands if you want to stay neutral," he said quietly, though aware Shawchert knew it already. There was no harm in acknowledging what he believed to be common sense; not all leaders were capable or intelligent ones, and if a few short words meant later hesitance and the sparing of unnecessary bloodshed, then so be it. The cyclops was no expert himself, but Ravenclaw had thrived well under his watchful eye for nearly three years. He had to be doing something right. "That includes mine," he added, though without threat in his voice. "Only polite. My pack has its enemies, at times." That, and even Shawchert could probably guess it unwise to startle a scarred, battle-experienced man like Jefferson Soul.
"Muggles is our ally," he continued. "Out of the packs around here, I've found the two of us to be the most neutral, standing-wise. I can't say anything of Dirty Mudbloods and Squibs, as they haven't been around as long. Gryffindor has had its scrapes within its own ranks, but that's all I know of them." He paused, then shrugged. "Then again, it's your decision to believe me. Hell, I could be steering you all wrong. Figure it out for yourself."
Rolling his shoulders, the cyclops began to turn away. "I'm going home to get out of the cold, unless you have anything to ask me." He was fully willing, if there were questions to be had.
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