So much had changed since Kipling had met the strange man by the lake that she had seldom thought of him after their meeting. Other pressing matters had been clouding her thoughts, like surviving and then after that came joining the Sunspire which arrived with its own bundle of new responsibilities. It felt good to know she was no longer alone like before, but she remained uncertain; especially since she’d done a good job of ripping ties so soon between her and one of her packmates.

Her brief fight with Fang hadn’t left her with much physical consequence, a simple soreness in her neck that had healed fairly quickly. Surprising herself she’d done a lot more damage to the hybrid even if it was slight, and yet he’d let her go with barely anything. And with that release she was gifted a wave of doubt and guilt. Kipling assured herself she’d done right, to put him in his place after his nasty little threat and yet a part of her was hesitant to find the action she’d taken as just. Something wasn’t linking right, and it haunted her to point of driving the she-wolf away from her own packlands.

At first, she wandered with no real destination, and then the scent of the sea caught her attention and pulled her closer. His memory came whirling back into her mind then, the wolf, the curious wraithlike man with gem-like eyes and heavy scars. When she reached the lip of the beach Kipling squinted out to observe the family of sea-lions dotting its shores. The sun burned against the horizon as it readied itself to dive into the depths of the seas and allow the moon its rightful reign. The she-wolf merely tilted her head in admiration having never witness such a spectacle but the sight radiated warmth that spread from within her chest and comforted her.

The beach was miles long and in either direction she couldn’t be sure where the pack the stranger once spoke of was, or even if it still existed. She thought she remembered him mentioning something about the North, but she didn’t trust her own memory to commit to the path. Casting out her luck like a message in a bottle tossed into the sea, Kipling lifted her lips and out poured a single note: Heimdall.

She was grateful for the spell of luck as a silhouette appeared from afar. With his approach Kipling’s chest dipped with a bow, her tail waving behind her in light-hearted greeting, it was obvious then she was in much better spirits than she had been in their initial meeting. Now she mirrored his smirk with her own gentle curl of her maw, heading tilting slightly with his confession. But did you miss me? Kipling inquired quite boldly, with a hopeful raise of her brows although it remained coquettish in quality perhaps the biggest indicator she was more at ease now.

She was curious as to what had happened to him in their time apart, certainly he had his own life to lead. He hadn't revealed much about himself, and still he remained quite the enigmatic character. But she assumed things, such as if he still ran with a pack (which his scent conveyed that he very much did) then he'd been spending his time there, tending to things as pack-life demanded; and with his show of confidence before, she was certain, he was definitely much better at it than she was.

You know with your ghostly antics by the lake, I never did get to tell you my name, Heimdall.

When he didn’t immediately answer Kipling nearly mistook it as her catching him off guard, which she would have taken pride in but it was quickly diminished by a flair of amusement. She lifted her head and then shook it, rolling her eyes playfully, as though the answer was obvious. Well, I came didn’t I? Never mind it had been quite a spur of the moment thing, he certainly didn’t know and wouldn’t. Instead she played it off as it had been her intent all along. And it wasn’t as though she hadn’t not wanted to come,

And it’s a very important name. She insisted, half teasing and another half quite genuine. Sure, he’d caught her very much down on her luck that day by the lake, but when it wasn’t none of those days where she caught a terrible case of the mean reds, as a rule Kipling was quite the prideful creature. Despite this she was much too charmed by the idea that perhaps leaving her name a mystery would make her more perplexing, so she didn’t go the extra length of simply telling him, tenderly thrilled by the idea she could for a while be someone but herself out here on the edge of the Wilds. After all, that’s what she had wanted when they’d met: to be someone else, but in the end, she wasn’t always quite happy with herself.

But no, I guess that’s not all. She continued, tapping her tail against the ground the same way a person might tap their finger against their chin in thought. I could stand to learn something new.

All good things come to those that earn them. Kipling advises him with a lip of merriment and mischief, making it clear from that moment that his goal might not be so easy achieved. It was to her discretion and she took the reigns tightly in that sense. Because more than anything else, it simply serves to please her at that moment, and for the she-wolf she really needs no other reason to sway her will. She hums then, trying to weigh her next action because really here she is asking for all this help, and she's giving him so little in return, unless of course, he really enjoys her company so much.

At that thought she her smile grows a subtle length, and her eyes once focused on the distance as the moment of silence settles between them, now shift to glance at his scarred visage. As if taking him in for the first time all over, Kipling focuses sharply on his features. She couldn't decide if he was very good at fighting, so ridden with scars the outcome seemed obscure to a simple acquaintance like her. Then again, some could say coming out of a battle with all without being marred or killed would be a victory in itself. There are other small features she touches on, the dirt and sand wedge between the fur on his paws the way he carries himself, and of course other little things like he passionate curosity and the foreign weight of his accent.

Taking all of these things in account, her eyes narrow lightly, cogs turning quickly, and then, I knew a wolf once. He said he could read the stars, the seas and sky and that he could see things... like the future when it came to the weather, and the movement of the herds. Can you see things like that?

Her delight at his acceptance of the ‘name game’ was quickly crushed by his denial of her story, and the wolf she’d met in passing. A small frown settled on her muzzle, and Kipling would have no issue pressing an argument—if she even knew what he was talking about. Instead she was left gazing at the pale wolf quizzically, her head slanted at the beliefs he choose to divulge. But as it’s been stated, Kipling herself was far from superstitious and most certainly did not consider herself religious, so she was—for lack of a better word—ignorant.

And she had no choice in revealing what she was, I… you believe a Wolf controls the weather? More intrigued than she was critical as she spoke, being able to pick what he’d said apart, enough to know Thor was a name. She assumed he belonged to whatever this ‘Norns’ pack was.