Weilund knew Elliot well enough to speculate about the nails. His brother had been such a perfectionist when it came to the things he made. No mistakes were ever left unfixed. If something was uneven, it was remedied right away. If a finished product didn't match the original plans properly, the project was scrapped and started over. So in this case – with these nails, Weilund had a couple of theories as to what happened. Either this thing was made for just Kol originally (he didn't know a lot about Kol and Eli's courtship, Elliot had deemed Eilu too young to learn about it at the time. All he knew for sure was that it involved a lot of his brother being persistent and pest-like) and the damaged roof was an excuse to return or perhaps it was a rushed job because the two of them had to be somewhere right away and the male had plans to fix it properly shortly after. It had never happened and so the reasons behind it all didn't really matter anymore. What did matter though, was the fact that Weilund planned on fixing it. He didn't which wolf figured they owned this place now. By losing a part of his heart in his brother's passing, Weilund Oriel was a shareholder in this property no matter what anyone else said.

He didn't acknowledge Bris' presence until she spoke. And when he looked at her, his expression did not reveal whether or not he'd even been aware of her in the first place. A look of irritation was just disappearing as she spoke to him, quickly being replaced by something little more devastating. What was it? Despair mingled with a desperate sort of hope? Had he looked like that when Conor first mentioned Kol to him? He was positive he did because knew which look would soon occupy this stranger's face. A look he'd put there himself. For the moment though, Weilund turned away, a strangled sort of cry uttering from his lips.

He kicked at the bag once more, closing his eyes at the sound of Elliot's tools clanging together. For a moment he merely stood, absolutely silent. When Eilu's eyes finally opened his face was more composed, stoic, even. Only the look in his eyes gave him away – a look of intense pain, as if he were burning from the inside out. It took an enormous amount of concentration, but the massive male's focus prevailed. He shifted as quickly as he could manage, bones cracking and popping as they adjusted to make room for his extra bulk that seemed to come from nowhere. He timed the shift well enough, pushing upwards on his front paws in time to take his weight on his hind legs, ending the transformation standing upright. When he was finished he merely stood there for a few seconds longer, his breathing slightly labored from the quick change.

He saw from the corner of his eye that Bris (he assumed it was her, who else knew of Eli and this place, aside from the dead of course) hadn't left, the massive behemoth took a deep breath. It was difficult, but he was able to catch her eye in his cool blue gaze, showing her the depth of his pain. In turn he was momentarily astounded by the female's subtle beauty. The delicacy of her slender shape, the way the forest's colours reflected in her alabaster pelt. Her features were petite, perfect even. What wasn't why he found her beautiful, though – for she was by any standards. But Weilund found that his attraction for her was all in the details. The confusion in her bi-colored eyes, the worried line that creased her furrowed brow and the way she seemed to be unconsciously biting her lip while waiting for his answer. For whatever reason he also found himself wondering if her fur really was as smooth as it looked. He could reach out, just now – his massive hand moving to memorize the feel of her. It would be so easy. His hands were giant, even compared to Elliot's, but delicate in every way he moved. Weilund possessed a grace Eli could only dream of. And while his older brother was known to be handsome, Weilund was something himself – his broad form was cloaked in a heavy pelt of black, peppered with silver and white while his underside was an attractive mix of reds, oranges and tans. If he were to reach out to this stranger, his thickly muscled arm would have looked lovely against her pelt.

He did nothing of the sort. Instead Weilund turned and grabbed the bag of tools, easily swing the large pack over his shoulder. Yeah. He finally spoke, answering her question. His voice was deep, softened by the sadness that thread itself through it. I do. I mean. I did. He shrugged, trying for nonchalance but managing only defeat. I'm his brother. He died not too long ago. It was the kind of news that needed to be delivered face to face. But for the life of him, Weilund just couldn't make himself turn to gaze into those beautiful eyes again.