Black Morass kill me if i snitch, cause if you snitch i'm gon' kill you

She could feel the cracks on her paws opening and closing with each step. They had become so numb from walking over burning stone that without sight, Cuicatl might not have known she'd reached such a dreadful swamp. At one point, she decided she'd be better off relying on scent, as the thin streaks of light she was occasionally gifted were barely enough to see right in front of her.

Maldita sea, she whispered, feeling her foot slip into a thick pool of fresh mud. Cuicatl managed to pull herself from the grasp of the earth, though she found getting the residue out of her fur to be an entirely different issue. This wasn't where she wanted to be, but Cuicatl figured it would have to do until she could find a way out. While she was there, she figured she ought to take advantage of the seemingly endless supply of fish or the tiny rodents managing in the marsh.

Trajan ventures a distance away from King Elk Forest, somewhat bored. He doesn't go very far, still very intent on settling in the land with Mato's other followers but he wishes to scout out his surroundings and so, one day, he steps away from the forest and walks to where his paws take him. They take him to plain lands then strange places and the Roman wonders if he should step in and explore. Finally, curiousity overcomes him, but Trajan enters with caution, mixmatched eyes flickering and scanning the darkened land with muted interest and dark wariness.
The soldier picks his way through the marshland carefully and slowly, not wanting to accidentally fall into a pool of mud. He likes his fur clean and nice, not covered in, well, mud. He sucks in a sharp breath and sniffs the air. Through the myriad of smells, he finds one of a wolf and after a few more minutes of carefull navigating, sees the stranger. For a moment, Trajan debates on what to do, then he lets out a sharp breath and a soft chuff to alert the stranger of his presence.

Cuicatl had not detected the other's scent. Perhaps it was due to the focus she had on the mud solidifying around her ankle, but it was more likely caused by the splashback of mud in her nostrils. It wasn't until they'd chuffed that her attention was able to shift, though she still showed little interest. For now, her priority was on keeping her fur from matting under the mud. To save herself from being seen as rude, Cuicatl turned and made eye contact for only a second, then barked an invitation and continued to groom herself.

You just want to watch?, she asked, her words lilted and turned up at the corners. Her language skills were significantly better than they had been the first time she'd entered the Wilds, though her accent was still an ongoing issue. Pinche wetlands, everything is too dirty here, you agree?

Trajan watches silently as the stranger makes eye contact with him, barks something like an invitation and continues to groom herself. He is not afraid of silence and understands her motives. She is, after all, covered in mud and it only makes sense to wish to clean it off. The Roman isn't going to help her, partly because he doesn't want mud on his tongue, but also because he finds it awkward to approach someone he doesn't know and groom them — grooming is intimate. He does not know her.
The stranger speaks, and Trajan detects immediately that the common tongue is not her language. He tilts his head curiously and licks his lips with lazy interest. "Yes," he replies simply, voice soft. "What language do you speak, originally?" he asks a moment later. What can he say? Trajan is a beast, a man crafted for war and soldiering, but he is also a creature of curiousity and he has never not done what he needs to do in order to sate his thirst for knowledge, even if it comes off as rude. He blames both his parents for that.
"I agree," a chuckle rises in his throat. "It is too dirty."

Ah, something very different from this one, Cuicatl laughed, Much more, how do you say, melodic. I know Nahuatl and Spanish; English is new. Anyone who took interest in her origins (thus, boosting her ego) was good company in Cuicatl's eyes. I'm called Cuicatl, like a songbird. You are...? She had been named for her soft, sweet voice, though that skill had faded long ago. The original plan had been to groom her for a life of performance, though she chose the more physical route that had normally been reserved for males. It took a hell of a lot of determination, but that was something Cuicatl would never run out of.

You come from here? she asked, wondering if he was a foreigner as well. He didn't necessarily sound like one, but that didn't mean anything when it came to the truth.

A small smile graces the Roman's lips at her words and he inclines his head. "Many languages are more melodic than English," he says with a soft laugh, his tongue slipping out to lick his lips. It was true though. Trajan knows to speak a number of languages if only because his father loves languages and forces him to learn them since a young age. He grew to like them eventually. Knowing how to speak multiple tongues was a very useful skill, especially in diplomacy. After all, if you talk to someone in their language, it goes to their heart rather than their mind.
"Me llamo Romulus," Trajan introduces himself using his moniker, preferring not to use his birth name in front of strangers. It is a habit, a precaution learnt from his father. Most of the time, he doesn't really care, but occasionally, the habit comes back and forces his tongue to say another name. What's said is said, though, so the Roman doesn't bother to correct himself. "Lo siento, no hablo Nahuatl." He's not very good at Spanish, but speaks it well enough, just not as well as English.
"I was born here," the soldier tilts his head almost regretfully, "but I moved away when I was very young. English is..not my preferred tongue," he says honestly. It's not that it's not a very pretty language, but he just didn't really like using it. Perhaps it was out of habit. Perhaps it was because speaking English brought back memories he would rather not deal with.

Ah, Cuicatl cooed with a grin, que beuno, hermano. It didn't matter that he didn't speak Nahuatl; no one did anymore, unless they were from the southern lands, but it was rare for anyone to leave that paradise for a land like this. So what is it then? she asked, curious as to just how many languages this Romulus knew. Any wolf with an interest like hers was a wolf worth keeping around, so Cuicatl thought.

Why did you move, if I might ask? Cuicatl had left to escape persecution; there were many males who felt threatened by her presence and plenty of them were bold enough to try their hand at getting rid of her. Most left their natal packs to start packs of their own, or to create a family name, neither of which a young wolf could have done.

A smile graces the Roman's chiseled features as Cuicatl responds in Spanish. Although Spanish is not his preferred language, there is a beauty to the words that draws Trajan in - there is an elegance, a certain charm..a romance to be found in the language. "Latin," Trajan responds with a tilt of his head, mismatched eyes gleaming brightly. "But I speak a number of languages, some passably, some fluently. Spanish, Ancient Norse, French, German, etc."
Father forced him to learn when he was but a child but Trajan grew to learn of their importance and he soon developed a love for language learning if only because, well, let's be real, if he met a wolf who spoke another language and he could speak said language...technically, it would be easy to flirt his way into their heart. Right? 
"My dad had enemies here when I was a pup," Trajan informs Cuicatl with a shrug of his shoulders. "The enemies raised me for a while, then my mum and sis vanished into god knows where. Dad came to try to get me and my bros back - only I went. He left with me to go back home where he beat his abusive father to bits and became King." Maybe he said it a bit too casually. Nevermind. "I, technically, came back to see if my siblings are still alive."