He pauses to mark near the base of a tree, ears perked for any hint of movement beyond the border. It's faint for now, a weak marker reinforced by too few wolves to truly be called pack territory. Still, Zephyr is ready to kill anything that crosses that faint line without his permission. This place is his now, and he's found he takes that very seriously. After a few moments of inspection, he starts to move forward, wondering briefly what @Kratos is up to.
The dragon roams Permafrost Hollows with the intentions of creeping upon any that do traverse through their terrain. Though few in numbers they are, the wolves of Hyperborea show no mercy to those who blatantly ignore the obvious marks.
What he finds instead of an intruder to strike down is his mate. The silvery sheen of his coat illuminated by soft, moonlit rays. A grunt rumbles first, as the dragon approaches, tilting his head to brush his chin over Zephyr’s head.
Bonsoir.
Pronunciation sloppy, but he tries.
He pauses at the sound of his mate's approach, going still and nuzzling into the touch to his head. The greeting lights up his gaze in a way no other individual can manage. Even if it isn't the best, it means the world to him that his mate is trying. He repeats it back, emphasizing the places where Kratos's pronunciation had fallen flat, and turns his head to give him a kiss. « Let's patrol together, » He suggests, pausing to allow Kratos a moment to clarify any words he'd picked out before he repeats it in the common tongue; a little game he's started sporadically in their moments alone, to help speed the process.
Greetings are easier—one word dished out and boom, French. He gets a reward for his efforts, and that is enough to have the dragon purr. Melting into the silver’s touch, he soon enough hears him respond again in the unfamiliar language. This time, the words unknown to Kratos. Bits he could pick out, yet French is far from easy when mashed with so many differences per sentence structure. A repetition in the common tongue gives the gist of it. Kratos parrots the phrase before he gives his answer.
Oui,
he agrees.
His tail sways, and he gives Kratos one last kiss before he presses forward, drifting ahead of him with a soft bark over his shoulder. His pace picks up slowly at first, scattered with pauses to mark the border — but assuming his mate starts to catch up, that doesn't last long. Soon he's running, leading his mate on a chase to the eastern edges of the territory. He hasn't had much chance to explore there yet, nor mark the areas that should be claimed as theirs, so it seems like a perfect opportunity.
Returning a kiss before they go on their way, the dragon allows the wraith to lead. He, too, pauses in areas and lifts a leg to mark where need-be. A few times being cheeky, and doing so directly over the spots that Zephyr has left—a further claim that they are each others, too.
The pace drastically picks up, however, as the silver spins them towards the eastern boundaries of their territory. Dark ears perk forth, catching the changing terrain with interest.
His pace doesn't slow until something catches his eye, drawing him to an abrupt halt that tosses up a dingy slush of dirt and melting snow in front of him. He hardly notices. Kratos —
He casts a glance behind him. This would be a perfect place to watch the eastern border.
His gaze is drawn back to what had caught his attention — a massive fallen tree trunk, the base twisted and warped over a huge boulder, while the upper parts form a path up to a towering peak jutting out from the forest's edge. The broken and stretched roots at the bottom seem to form an odd sort of stairway to start the ascent. He glances back again after a few moments, looking for Kratos's reaction.
An outpost catches Zephyr’s eye, and thus intrigues Kratos in a mannerism that it might not have to begin with. He slows his gait, unconcerned how mud cakes his own limbs. A snort in agreement escapes him first.
Yeah, it will work well.
The dragon could perch along the trunk, or even the peak of the boulder on days he wishes to be lazy. He investigates further, approaching and circling the massive lookout post and sniffing along the ground, marking the corners for future reference.
Kratos's agreement pleases him, and he follows his mate around the structure at a trot with tail swishing happily. He marks over the spots Kratos marks, glancing at him with an impish half-smile to show he hadn't missed his antics before. Maybe we could find more places like this,
He suggests, turning to move on when the task is finished. Or make them.
A hum of approval rumbles within the dragon as the wraith follows the impish lead—his eyebrows lifting, own tail swishing with the brief temptation to turn patrol to play.
Good idea,
Kratos praises, now curious what other possibilities roam ahead. He beckons with his muzzle further along the boundary, and this time, takes the lead in continuing their patrol.
He straightens a little under the praise, giving his chest a few licks in a manner similar to a satisfied cat before he picks up the pace again to follow Kratos. He lets their patrol stretch in silence for a few minutes, keeping just behind his mate and watching his tail intently. When the right opportunity strikes, so does Zephyr. He lunges for Kratos's tail, hoping to capture it briefly between his teeth and use the opportunity to dart past and take the lead again.
The sudden catch of teeth in his tail causes Kratos to stop in his tracks. He turns around, circling the motion enough to miss Zephyr taking the lead until he’s forward again. With a huff, he follows.