The pirate did not fare well away from the sea, but he had trekked away from home and ventured into the wilds in search of signs of nearby packs. As far as he was able to tell, his old home was far enough away from the others that it would not cause a commotion to reclaim it. There was a forest not too far inland with the heavy markings of wolves, showing a demonstration of having been claimed. Smokestep did not pay them any mind. If they were to cause trouble, they would be met with the Ironsea crew and all of her fury. The ghostly figure had never feared confrontation; his father had destroyed the common sense in him and banished all fear in regards to other beasts.

As such, while the brute trekked along the wilds, he caught wind of a stranger in the area. Aiming to skirt around it, he padded through the snow-coated meadow until he had found himself near the base of a mountain. Not far away, his gaze fell on the inky figure. The breeze carried her scent back to him and the pallid creature was able to confirm that it had been her scent he had hoped to avoid. Finding that his efforts had gone to waste, the seafaring hound trudged toward her with his head low and his shoulders swaying from side to side in a leonine manner.

“Ahoy,” he greeted, clenching his teeth shortly after to brace himself against the frigid winds that ripped against his flesh.

The dark woman turned to him with moon-yellow optics. Smokestep cast her a crooked smirk and refrained from winking; he'd seen situations turn south quickly for taking a brash and cocksure approach to strangers. The glint in her optics suggested that there was a hint of curiosity in her wary expression. He would feed off of this until she tired of him, as he did with most companions in the wilds. Surely, the corsair would press his luck with the inky doll in only a short matter of time.

“Aye... I was born in Blackrock Depths, lass,” he responded with a fleeting smile that showed his yellowed fangs from beneath pitch, leathery lips. “I've been doin' me best to gather the roughest and toughest cads in these parts to join me crew on the coast.” The Ironsea wolves; and he would reclaim his home, just as his father had intended him to do.

The dark woman appeared moderately amused by him, but this did not offend the pirate. He would prefer that he amuse the pretty company as opposed to insulting them. Still, she questioned his reasoning and he wondered if she was testing the waters with him. It seemed that she had either known the wilds in the past, or she had lived there for some time. This was the only real rationality in her statement. The wild woman was not wrong, though; the kind of wolves that Smokestep sought were hard to come by. Still, when he found them... he had never been unimpressed with the beasts who had vowed themselves to his crew. The corsair did not imagine that he ever would be.

A crinkly grin curled his features and exposed his teeth. Kingfisher snickered at her remark and nodded his head a few times. “Ho, well yer not wrong thar, miss,” the ghost admitted with a good-humored wag of his tail. “I'm about the roughest sea urchin this side o' the mountain.” At this, the wily seafarer cast her a good-humored wink of his crimson eye. “An yer just getting' yerself a sneak peak.” With all of his confidence, the pallid marauder often started to become lacking in conversation with those who chose to dwell inland.

“An what o' yer kind, misses? What lofty position have ye run down from to chat with the likes o' this sea salt?”

The baiting line was enough to rile the young pirate into a heightened state of interest. He liked her! She was precisely what he was looking for to begin Ironsea. The seafarer did not know how well his sister would take to the feisty woman, but he did not care much. Her smirk seemed to ruffle his pelt, and the pallid brute lifted his skull upward and chuckled at her before doing a dramatic spin in a circle and quirking a brow alluringly. “Ye don't have to do much, misses. Fer a fine lady like yerself, I'd be happy to give ye the full show,” he teased with a flashing green and a swish of his tail. On such long limbs, he appeared to be dancing on stilts. But, the pirate did weave an entrancing step or two before he stopped.

“Say now, lass. What's yer name?” he asked her with a quirked brow and a curious glance. It would do him well to know who he was addressing when he tried to recruit her to the Ironsea. For all of the others that he had come across in the wilds, he had never been so sure that one would belong in his crew – this fiery woman would certainly fit well.

The chocolate woman did not seem to turn and run after watching Smokestep make a spectacle of himself. He felt pleased that he had managed to entertain her to a certain degree. More so, he had also gotten enough to obtain a name from her. Of course, she seemed to wager that he would be required to provide his own if she was going to offer hers. For a moment, he considered a continuation of the teasing session, but instead nodded his head to her in agreement. He may have been a pirate, but he was not one who frequently went back on his word.

Rosalyn was the name of the girl, and she already came equipped with a nickname of Roz. “A lovely name, miss,” he remarked in a soft rumble. It did suit her well, as far as he could tell. Seeing as how the corsair had made a promise to exchange his own calling, he stood taller than he had before and then swung his head downward in the form of a cheeky bow.

“Me name's Kingfisher, but ye can call me Smokestep.”

As he drew his crown back up, the hound watched her with a careful eye. She was the first to know his true name in those lands – the first aside from Moorhen, but she was an entirely different case. There was something that felt inherently risky about providing his actual name to the woman. It felt almost as though he had bared himself to her and was expecting her not to take his life. Smokestep knew that he would have to give some to gain those he needed. For her, it did not seem all that bad.

The pirate thrust his ears forward as she tasted his name on her tongue. He liked the way it sounded there, but he enjoyed the way his birth-given nickname had sounded on any tongue. While she took a moment to share with him that she could have offered any sort of nickname without him knowing any better. Smokestep chuckled at this, but wasn't sure that his reasons were all too great. Skellige had granted his own boy the nickname out of a burning fear that he had felt upon seeing him; there was nothing more than the hatred that his father felt for Ksenia that had granted Kingfisher his epithet.

“Say, ye could have a different nickname if ye joined me crew,” he remarked with a suggestive look. His mismatched gaze sought her golden optics for a fleeting moment while he waited for a signs of a response from the dark-furred woman.

Roz's remark caused the prickly pirate to scoff openly. His jaw dropped a bit and he lifted a single front paw so that it rested near his chest in a pose of mock surprise. “Well, Roz, I'll have ye know that once ye shack up with good ol' Smokestep, ye won't want to be shackin' up anywhere else,” he boasted with a swift wink and a chuckle. He then moved to close some of the space between them in a few limber steps. His long legs seemed to move with some grace that had not been there before. The fur along his chest brushed against her own and he pulled his muzzle toward the hair of her ears.

“An' I'm always worth the trouble, lass.” His voice was husky and deep as it drifted toward her. The corsair then pulled his frame back and watched her with a calculating eye. He had not happened across another wolf yet that he wanted as part of the Ironsea crew – not as badly as he wanted Rosalyn there. She was made of pirate blood and she would do well within their ranks; she need only accept.

The snort was cute, he noted with a cheeky smile that stretched the dark of his lips upward into a comical expression. Of course, to a young man, any sort of genuine attention from a pretty lass was more than welcome. Smokestep would take all of the appreciation that he could get. After only a moment or two, she made a pointed comment to let him know that she wasn't a fan of trouble, it seemed, in any of its shapes or forms. This was disappointing, but he wasn't entirely sure if she was feigning this remark or if she meant it. She might have walked the walk, but he had not considered the chance that she may not have wanted anything to do with him. He was dense enough to be played, he was sure of that much.

Then, she asked him where his crew would be settling. A spark lit a fire inside of him at this remark and the smirk returned to his features. Pulling himself away from her, he motioned with his muzzle in the direction of the coast and then back to face her. “The bay on the coast,” he answered simply. “Yer welcome ta come on by, miss Sparksnout,” he then added with a sniping wink.

There was a spark in his gut at the use of his true name, and the pale corsair squinted his gaze at her. For only a moment, Smokestep wondered if it had been wise to offer what he had offered no-one else. He did not imagine that there was much she could do with his moniker, but he did not wish to find out. Instead, he let it go with a quiet snort and a single ear splaying to the side. Rosalyn was coy, he noted mentally. The marauder liked that about the red-furred beauty.

She bid her leave and he waited, watching her depart until he could not see the fire of her pelt any longer. Only then did the ghostly figure turn toward the coast and set off in a steady trot, hoping to arrive with enough time to fetch Sandpiper. He knew his sister well and she had never been fond of other females, so he anticipated that she would fancy a heads up in regards to the newest offer he had made. All the while, his mind danced with thoughts of the feisty creature and her sharp tongue.