He could hear the thundering of paws on the borders. His brain alighted with adrenaline and he surged forward towards the invisible line that firmly divided Neverwinter land to no man's land, squinting at the pale woman running. ​Aisee! What are you doing? he frowned, wondering if this was some training regiment that he was not privy to.

He was indignant at first, but it faded away quickly. Ah, he said, understanding. He knew the feeling well, though he wasn't much for running as his method. Haoniyao. Yao for short, if you want.

She asked why he had joined the pack. Lenny invited me in, he said, thinking of their giggly interaction. This area seemed like a good place to settle for a while. I met Mal a while back as well. I felt that this was a good group. He was curious what else had brought people to this area — to this pack. There were obviously natives, but how many transients were roaming in and out? He really didn't know much about the region they were in, now that he thought about it. He didn't even know the name! You?

How long ago was that? The beginning. He was curious how long this pack had been around before he arrived. Mal had seemed rather young — perhaps around his age — and yet had started a pack of his own. Where she was from was another matter — something he could concern himself with later.

Yes, He nodded, beginning to step off. He would let Simmik lead the way — he was not yet that acquainted with the woods that was his new home.

This was a young pack, he recalled. Only last fall. I haven't met everyone — how many are here now? He follows her lead, adding his own scent to the pack borders. I live here now, he thought. Far south from here. Near the coast of a southern sea — I do not think it is connected to this one. He gestures westward, to the ocean. We call it my home Kereenyaga.

Kidogo, He murmured. His own clan numbered more than ten, let alone the other families that made up the rest of his tribe. It seemed strange for it to be this small, given the fertility of this region. Perhaps, it was because this was a new pack — made up of unrelated wolves. His tribe had generations of history to bolster their numbers.  

Kiswahili, he says his native language with relish. I haven't heard much of it outside of my home. He turned to her, curious. Do you speak any other languages?

Small, he translated. My home pack was much larger. We didn't call it a pack. It was a kabila. I think the word is tribe. He hesitantly rolled the r, unsure if he was correct.

It is good to keep such things alive, he nodded in approval. She did good.

It was the first time that anyone had asked him such a question. Even Lenny hadn't inquired yet, though he figured eventually it would come up. Ah...utukufu? I don't know the right term for it. My family...we fight. Warriors...I think the word is. But...there's no more of it. War. He could spin it eloquently in his own tongue, but in this one...it was rough and clunky. I went to find utukufu. So I can be a warrior.

Na'am! That would be good. He smiled. He wondered how this woman — another wolf from a far-away land — would fight. She looked strong, and if her insistence on running was any indication, she was dedicated to her body and thus to being a warrior, as she said.

Ah, basi... he trailed off, trying to translate the term in his head from what he knew of common. It is what warriors hope to get when they fight. Feeling proud of what you did to protect your family and friends...to be remembered and...praised. But there's no fighting back home anymore. So I cannot fight. I have to find utukufu elsewhere so I can bring it home with me. He finished, hoping that he had made some sense to her.

He nods, assuming that honor was the word that best encompassed what utukufu described. There was perhaps, no literal translation for what he described. He frowned at what she said. How can I do that well if I never fight? he asked, confused. I cannot be a good warrior if I never fought.

He merely responded with a quiet hum. He didn't know how to properly convey his feelings through the common tongue, his mouth unable to form his thoughts clearly. He was quiet for a moment, looking away. After a brief stillness he spoke again. We can still spar, he said, his voice light.

He nodded, content that their relationship was still open in that sense. Philosophy and martial doctrine wasn't something that he wanted to get caught up in, especially not with someone he considered an ally. Perhaps he could better explain himself at another time, when his grasp on their shared language was a bit better. I would hope to learn from you as well.