The ostmen was not the only one who tracked the herds within the glade. 

Lótë weaved amongst the spindly brambles of undergrowth and tree alike, peridots flitting alertly as she wandered. A dip of her head as she tugged the deerhide closer about her frame, the warmth of it slipping and allowing the chill to brush her skin. 

She'd almost mistaken him for the spirit-bear from a distance -- if not for the pale sand that washed his legs in golden stockings and the many scars that laced his immense frame. 

The cloudberry dared to wander closer, calling out in a soft chuff to determine if he desired company. 

Pale gems of malachite flickered as he turned to spear her with a single orb of cobalt -- its twin clouded and foggy. Watching and waiting, she remained poised on the tips of her toes as if she'd become the dove she resembled and was ready to take wing should the snowfall behemoth move in a threatening manner. 

At last, the silence and tension alike break -- both seeming to size the other up and come to a silent agreement. 

"I greet you," Lótë lilted with a slow incline of her head and an owlish blink. She pattered a bit closer, unable to not feel slightly intimidated up close. The man was huge next to her bird-boned frame. 

"What do they call you?" the doe murmured inquisitively. Then, as if recalling to give her own introductions, "I am Lótë of clan Nuiruk."

An impish grin crossed her lips, realizing her mistake. "Nuiruk is the name my family has taken. There are many of us. I am second wife to our sunman -- sister to our moonwoman." Perhaps it was unwise to share such information with a stranger but the brumal he-wolf did not seem an unsavory sort. If he'd desired to hurt her, he could have easily overpowered her and done so already. 

"Our village is called Moonglow," the cloudberry continued in explanation. "It is good to meet you, Kjalarr."

"I must admit, the Bay is quite beautiful," she grinned, thinking of Antares and wondering who he'd become since. "Why did your clan choose it?" Here, her head cocked in intrigue. 

"Ah," Lótë echoes back to him. "It was your family's ulax. I can see why it is so important to you." She could empathize. The doe could not imagine ever leaving the Spine or relocating to a new home -- at least not one very far from the village and her family. 

"You will build a village there? Or will you live alone?" the fallow she-wolf asked, wondering if perhaps they might have neighbors on the Coast soon. If this was the first contact between their groups, Lótë hoped it might reflect a future alliance. They were not known for having enemies but it would be of benefit to have allies closer to home -- their Glacier kin were rather far from Ouroboros Spine. 

Lótë nodded again. "And this would be the name of your village -- Stavanger Bay?" A thought struck her. "Was this the name of your family's village when they lived there?"

The doe knew she was asking many questions but her curiosity was piqued. It was exciting after all, the thought that another pack might be forming close by. "Did your tribe have certain customs? And would you implement them in the new village?" An apologetic smile was sent Kjalarr's way, silently wondering if she was pestering him with all the queries. 

Lótë retreated into silence, nodding once more -- sobered by the realization that he must've been lost as a child as her own cubs had been once. Or perhaps worse. Her curiosity was not boundless; the dove refrained from prying into the matter of what had separated Kjalarr from his kin. It wasn't as if she was keen to discuss what had led her to flee home as a youth.

"Might I ask what gods your father worshipped?" This question was more carefully placed, uncertain as she was if it was a painful topic for the pale he-wolf. 

"I must admit -- I am unfamiliar with such gods. And with the northmen you speak of," the dove lilted, lips quirking slightly. Kukutux was of the north, and pale too like this sea-wolf. But the inflections of their accents differed, not to mention that there was a notable yet inexplicable difference in the souls of the two. "The spirits of Moonglow are different. Moonwoman and a few others speak to them. I wish I could explain them to you but my place is amongst the trees." Lótë was an earthly, simple woman. One who toiled in paints and walked within the tracks of the herds. The ways of unseen things, of the stars, were better left to her sister and children -- though this was not say that she did not hear the stories and practice the ways of the village.

Lótë's spring gaze slid to the side, observing the edge of the ostman's pale visage as he spoke of blood. "It is," she confirmed in her soft lilt. "But that is not to say that they don't sometimes take. All gods do." There was something that tugged at the corner of her lips -- something rather somber -- as her gaze returned to the path before her. 

Aiwëndil had been lost. And even the dove who had become Lótë knew what it was to love and lose precious things, all on the whims of spirits and gods. 

Lótë nodded in understanding, shooting the pale guardian a smile. "It's been a pleasure to speak with you. Piunik, safe travels." The bird-watcher did not linger long on her own after watching the scarred silhouette fade from sight, soon finding that she felt ready to return to the village and the work that waited there.