For
@Tonravik
Zoratto had run off again. Though, this time Rhanno's usual nonchalance about his reoccurring disappearances became something more akin to worry. He wasn't actually worried about his captive's well-being (the boy needed some sense knocked into him, after all), he was more concerned that his scent had become mixed with those of the Khalas that they were following. He also hadn't returned despite Rhanno's repeated and demanding howls. He couldn't possibly have found the other Dotharan wolves before him.
Both anger and concern spurring him forward, the old male had abandoned his search for the Khal in favour of recapturing Zoratto — though something told him that if he found one, he would find the other.
With a deep scowl twisting his already unbecoming features, Rhanno strode towards a cliffside overlooking a steep drop, peppered with sheep along the ridges. He gazed down at them before looking up at the horizon that stretched before him, realising he had come too far. He knew the mountains were no place for the Dotharan. Which meant they were back the way he came. Rhanno's bones were weak, however, and the thought of making his way back towards the valley caused him to fall into a rough sit. He would rest here a while.
Tonravik descended down Sheepeater Cliffs. The woman had found another place there that she would explore. The bear of a wolf licked her chops as she picked her way down, her dark eyes searching the land beyond her. The woman would find Echelon and Kroc, and they would go after a night of rest. There was no time to waste.
When she had made her way down, there was a wolf simply sitting there. The dark wolf gave him plenty of berth, letting it be known she was going around him, not approaching him. But should he find reason to stop her, Tonravik was plenty aware, her ears perked to listen. The large Tartok woman moved with plenty of confidence knowing this land went unclaimed. Tonravik would lay claim to her own piece of land soon. That time was not yet now, and the place certainly was not here.
Another joined him not too long after he decided to rest here. Rhanno raised his nose into the air as the scent of another wafted towards him, a sweet but wild scent that caused a grin to curve the sides of his lips. He turned, orange eyes seeking out the form the smell belonged to. She was easy to find. A bear of a wolf, with sleek black fur covering a well-muscled body and strong limbs. The man admired her as she rounded him, obviously having no intention to stop and chat.
"You look on a mission," he announced loudly in his broken english, hoping she would at least stop for a moment. He wanted to continue admiring the females of this land, it seemed to produce strong ones, if his last meeting with the white-furred girl was anything to go by. Perhaps it was a fortunate omen, then, a sign that this truly was the place they were to settle.
The wolf she had spotted spoke in a thick accent, and it took her a minute to piece together his broken English. Tonravik looked back to him, now taking him in. He was littered in scars, graying, and large. A soldier, she assessed. He looked as though he had fought many battles. And he was old. More experienced than she, surely, even despite how frequently she trained and how many battles she had fought.
So, she gave him her full attention, curious of his origins. The Tartok woman remained in place for the moment, and gave a nod to his words. Yes. She was. To find suitable land. It had not occurred to her that she might find suitable wolves, too.
To his relief, she stopped and turned to look at him, brown eyes flashing in the light. His own flickered with interest, his head tilting ever so slightly to the side as he inspected her more thoroughly. Just as she was planning to establish her own pack within the lands, Rhanno too had plans of forming a Khalas should the leader he was tailing be weak. It would be difficult, however, both with the language barrier and also the tendency for the Dotharan wolves to stay among their own. Still, his ambitions remained high and his determination to once again rise to power was almost palpable.
At her nod, his smirk widened and he gave a satisfied chuff. "Name Rhanno," he offered as he done with the other woman. His grasp of the native language was weak, at best, but he at least knew a few words and could get the gist of his intentions across. "Where heading?"
Rhanno. Tonravik was not a woman of manners, nor did she even think to introduce herself. The wolf was far from civilized. But it was clear she had heard him in the way she tilted her head some, and her nostrils flared. His question was met with a look into the distance. She wasn't exactly sure where she headed; she only knew that she was going somewhere.
Tonravik approached him slowly, not at all aggressive about it. Her tail hung idly between her haunches, but her ears were erect and her attentions were wholly upon him. "Warrior," she states, wondering what he would make of it.
He followed her gaze into the distance, a wordless answer that still spoke volumes. There were mountains in the distance, ones she would come to greet if she kept following her original direction. Whether she lived among the peaks or was simply wandering towards them aimlessly he wasn't sure, but she sure looked like the sort to reside in the mountains. He admired wolves who could, though would never dream of it himself. He was a wolf of the plains, of the great golden grasses where bison grazed.
She approached, and Rhanno flicked his tail as he turned her attention back to her. Warrior. The word was met with a slight furrowing of his brows, for he knew of it, but was unsure whether she meant that he was a warrior or if she was. Though, he had no doubt that they both were well versed in battle. "Khal," he responded with a nod, for he was not only a warrior. Technically, he was an ex-Khal, but the stranger needn't know that.
Bison she had hunted before, many-a-time. Where the range was not steep they would come, and feed there upon the abundant grasses. They were powerful animals, a force surely to be reckoned with. One of her favorite meats, but Tonravik enjoyed all big, powerful game. Khal, he responds. She is not sure if this means "yes" or "no"; but it seemed some sort of affirmative. He nodded his head as well. Khal means yes.
The unsocial wolf flicks her ears and stares at him. Tonravik was a woman who knew well what she wanted, and she decided she wanted this wolf. By the scent of him, he did not travel alone, and she looked around for any of his counterparts with none in sight. She looks back to him, thinking.
Unaware that he had caused confusion on the word for ruler in Doth — gods forbid she ever used the word Khal and Rhanno in the same sentence in front of another Dotharan wolf — the man stared back as she bore into him with eyes that nearly matched her dark fur. He shifted under her gaze, not uncomfortable, but clearly wondering what her intentions were. The language barrier proved to be a difficult thing, not to mention the relative silence between the two. She was either simply one not for talking or was as thick as Zoratto.
"Am looking for son," he mentioned casually as she searched around him. "Small wolf." At this, Rhanno smirked and held up a paw to indicate the boy's height — a height Zoratto most definitely stood above.
At his words, Tonravik sniffed at him with more intent. She shook her head; she had smelled none like him, aside from he himself. Surely she would look. "Do you run with many?" For she smelled many upon him. That he had a son meant he led, and Tonravik was inclined to believe he led now as she had no reason not to. He had many scents upon him, his tiny (as gestured) son just one of them.
Tonravik was both of those things. Simple, and not one for talking. The lone wolf was just a primal being; but it would culminate into where she would lead, again. Tonravik was patient for this day. It would come.
She was a curious creature, one that Rhanno himself toyed with idea of recruiting. Contrary to her assumptions, he was not a leader (as much as it pained him to admit). He had once been a mighty Khal, with an army as strong as the bison they hunted, until his own son took him down. Damn Tihollo. Rhanno's features unknowingly wrinkled at the thought of the traitorous bastard. He had given him everything, trained him to be a mighty warrior, and his reward was exile. He would be a leader again, though, he was old but not feeble.
"Only us," he replied to her question, before inwardly cursing, thinking maybe he should have been a little more vague. Did she think he was already part of a pack? He wasn't sure if he smelt like it or not yet, though was keenly aware that he smelt different, compared to the regular scents of these new lands. Dry plains, apparently, were a rarity here. He cocked his head towards her, asking without words the same question. Was she part of a pack?
She watched his face shift, and wondered at it, but did not pry. Tonravik did not care. Us. It could mean many things. The scents dictated many. Tonravik was a literal wolf, and connected the meaning of he and his son. There were more she could smell; he could mean that, too, but she did not bother to think much of it. It mattered little to her, unless they could offer her something. His response was an action to which she shook her head. I am not. And she was not, not yet; she would always be Tartok, but she felt that he asked the same question she had.
More silence, but she conveyed her answer quite clearly by a shake of her massive head. So she was not yet part of a pack. Rhanno's eyes lit up and he would have beamed if he were a more cheery fellow. Instead, the elder waved his tail and stepped forward, bowing his head slightly. He studied her again, admiring the pitch darkness of her pelt. "You warrior, too?" he asked, though he was confident of his assumptions that she was. What else would a wolf of her stature be better at?
His query was met with a proud nod. She was. As early as one could be taught, she learned. That he said "too" implied that her earlier assumption was right. Khal must mean yes. The leader then caught a scent on the wind. Her head turned. In the distance there was a herd. While she did not hunger, she figured she ought to investigate them some. Given she did not know where she would settle, it would be good to follow these animals some. The lone wolf looked to her fellow before looking back to the herd, as much of an invitation as any, and then trotted in their direction slowly.
Even if she did not settle here, she and hers could hunt at least and get their fill before moving on. Her ear flicked as a fly buzzed past it.
A scent carried on the wind distracted them both, and Rhanno followed the other's gaze towards a herd that lingered in a field below them. He squinted as he made out the dark shapes, and let out a disappointed breath of air through his nostrils. They were not bison. He had grown sick of the taste of deer and rabbit — easy as they were to hunt compared to the beasts of the plains, they hadn't the satisfying taste that he had lived on for so many years.
Nevertheless, the dark female's wordless invitation was met with a nod of his own and he moved to follow her, eager to see a fellow warrior in action.