sorry for the delay on this
@Izumi!
the bay was covered in a dense layer of morning mist; cool as it lingers upon his pelage the thick tendrils of fur along his spine damp. the sun begins it's climb in the sky and kjalarr is slower this morning. slower to wake, noting the small ache in his leg. there is always a little stiffness first thing in the morning, but the chill and the damp bring about the needling pain that, with any luck, will ease as the day warms up and goes on.
nevertheless, after eating a quick breakfast of rabbit, he tends to patrols all the same. with the base of scent markers finally all lain down — an arduous task not as easy as it had been in his spritely youth — but nevertheless he persists, knowing that the more he moves it the more numb he'll become to the ache.
All good <3
The coast; shimmering in seaglass waters and a clear sky -- thick with the scent of saltine and dried seaweed -- rounding over the horizon.
Although it was not all as warm as the romanticized memories of Izumi's youth might've brought along -- winter still chilled the air and a fog blurred most of her senses. A cold feeling against her skin that she'd been trying to escape by coming here in the first place; but to no avail, it seems. Her shoulder, now missing a patch of fur from her wound, began to feel itchy in this humidity -- and she'd will herself not to mess with the delicate skin. It had taken some time to heal and messing in up now would only lengthen the process.
Somewhere along the cranebird's journey, ink painted stilts had lingered their way over the line of marked borders without so much as a trace of thought -- the woman senses were far too overwhelmed with the scents of condensed air and ocean to notice it.
Nor the scent of a nearby stranger...
her scent travels upon the soft breeze, tinged as it was with sticky sea salt; a formal scent of wisteria that tickles the nortman's nose as he walks his patrol. even so, it takes him a little longer than he'd like to reach her. even when he does, his approach is cautious but amiable. old age, he suspects, has taken the stinging bite out of his bark. nevertheless, he knows that when things are more established for him and the blossoming bay he will become more aggressive.
he slows as she comes into view: a lovely thing; bearing a pelage of soft silver with ink black markings.
a low chuff is given to announce his presence.
From the thick air a figure did appear, and the cranebird was slow to notice until the faint sound of a chuff drew her attention away from the fogged shore. Her stance was still -- guarded -- and lilac gaze trained in caution as they'd meet a pair of creaulean orb.
He was tall like she, but with muscle wrapped tightly around his limbs and frame alike. Sand met seafoam when gentle tan rode up his legs to meet his ivory fur, and though his appearance was hardened and aged -- there was something strangely gentle about that bright stare. Much like his demenor as he approached: No signs of aggression.
Closer the seafarer would approach, and Izumi's small leather nose twitched to better take in his scent. He was native here.
-- and she had trespassed.
The silken tassel which raised over her hips in caution lowered in respect and, in turn, so did her head it dipped in a silent apology. "I greet you, seafarer." the crane bird would greet, a voice soft and hushed like the winds -- yet formal all the same.
"I am Izumi. A traveler, but not of the shores..."
soft lavender eyes peer at him; assessing him. he has never felt ashamed of the scars that riddle him: from the blinded left eye and the ugly scars that marred the flesh 'round it, to the shadow mark made by potema upon his trouble hindquarter. they are marks of victory, of survival.
he watches the progression through reactions, satisfied with the dip of her head and greeting. old age appeared to have mellowed him out much: though it remains to be seen if he will have the same forgiveness when plans finally came to fruition.
izumi,
he greets using the name she offered him. i am kjalarr. konnungar of this bay.
or he would be, once it formed. but that was neither here nor there. i will escort you thru my bay.
it was not a question: it was a soft command. if she did not wish to backtrack that was fine: but he would shackle her with his company all the same; at the very least until she was outside of his borders.
a soft pause is given before he inquires: what brings you here, traveller?
after a few more words are exchanged — they split ways, kjalarr seeing her outside of the bay amiably.