Sleeping Dragon a language that makes boats out of our bones

Gavriel had taken his time acclimating to pack life again. Since Seageda, he never quite felt at home. Moving to Trigeda had been a change and their branch had been welcoming, if not confused, but the few followers left of his home had never wavered. They had Seregrýn as a replacement once they were sure of Thuringwethil's death but he hadn't been willing to let that succumb. Now, he had taken up his time in the new empire and tried to act as if things weren't all that different.

Except they are. 

They are on a mountain instead of the seaside, most of these wolves don't understand, and Gavriel isn't entirely sure what to do with himself. He had friends and warriors to work around and now, having hermit himself since the beginning, he's left trying to pick himself back up and pretend Drageda is their new kingdom. In time, it would come; Thuringwethil's confidence had shown, but he still didn't quite feel right.

Gavriel moves along the border, keeping himself busy as he engraves his paw prints into the outer rim of Sleeping Dragon.

@Sangilak

As ever, the woman can be found on the borders. She waited daily for the return of Tatkret, but knew that the mission she had put him to would take time. She did not fear for his safety; prior to his leaving, she had put the fear of death in him again to make him more cautious and mistrustful of all things. It was perhaps cruel, but a necessary evil that need be done. 

Sangilak marks the land diligently, and now and again pauses to alertly look beyond the Dragon lands. But there is nothing there to chase off or keep out, and so she continues her trek. In the near-distance there is another, doing much the same thing as she. Sangilak had yet to think of diminishing the distance between them, being quite thorough in her own task and not desiring to leave one stone untouched. When they came together eventually, however, she would join him on his watch. 

Gavriel spots the large creature ahead of him and lifts his nose to try and catch her scent, but the wind works against him and it’s undetected. He narrows his brown eyes and picks up his speed, weaving through whatever brush is in his way until he’s close enough to determine she’s not a threat. Relief washes over him; he’d been here long enough and regained most of his strength that he’d withstand in a fight well enough to ward off a trespasser. He didn’t need to, however, when Thuringwethil’s familiar scent reminds him she’s a pack mate.

A chuff escapes his lips while his gait slows but he lowers his head a little, tail wagging a few times behind him, to give the higher ranked wolf her earned respect.

Sangilak watches him approach and stops short, head high and ears erect. She stood there, stationary, up until nearly the last minute; it was then she closed the distance entirely between them to sniff at the furs of the large male before her, noting the scars that were visible upon him. How they seemed to be a purposeful, neat mark rather than the messy deconstruction of skin earned within battle. That did not mean she doubted his ability, though she wondered about where those marks had come from for a brief moment. Her eyes lingered upon that point of him longer than anything else, though as his posture adjusted Sangilak's gaze was drawn to his face. 

The she-wolf flicked her ears, her posture holding but her plume waving in a manner that suggested she was at ease in his presence. The woman looked to the direction she had been moving in, and back to him, suggesting that he join her, even though he had covered the land already. It would never be said that she was negligent when doing her duties. She was dedicated, excessively so. 

He gives her room to inspect him and do as she needs while he keeps his head down and ears against the back of his head. He turns his nose to inhale a long breath, memorizing her scent; he’d noticed it on the borders several times over and it surprises him that he’s just now seeing her but it doesn’t unsettle him. Shaking the thought away, he begins to follow along in her way of suggestion, even if he’d already made a round. It never hurt to check back for spots he could have missed.

“Gavriel,” he introduces then, stepping into a long stride to match her heavy footfalls.

The other introduced themselves as Gavriel. His scent had a familiar note in it that reminded her of Thuringwethil, but she thought nothing of it. At this point, perhaps she had that same note. Sangilak, she introduced in turn. As he was among Drageda, there was no harm in telling him this. She was not displeased with his joining her; she sniffed at the earth and noted he had done a grand job of marking. She simply added to his work, squatting and marking where she would to strengthen the borders. Though Sangilak had not seen Gavriel before, she too was unconcerned. She had smelled him, and that was what was the most important. He did his job, and there was no cause for her to reprimand him or be unkind. 

Gavriel had heard, in passing, that Sangilak and her companion had come from nearby Seageda—though there had been a great distance between them, it was not enough that they were not unknown. The wolf, either of them, he does not know, but he knew of the Tartok wolves several days travel away. He knew their struggle had some impact of his former home and helped ruin the threat, in the long run, but most of it is over his head and he doesn’t question. Neither of them seemed to be going back, and he’s quite content—as far as he can tell—in their new empire.

His ears cup forward, though, at a new sound that distracts him from his thoughts, and he sees a flame of red. And then a second, and his fur bristles and he hops forward a few times with a low growl. Two foxes linger in the distance, unaware of their presence, and he offers a soft chuff—barely a rush of air from his lips—to see if his new companion sees the same thing. Gavriel shifts, putting a little distance between them so they could circle around the two creatures.

Sangilak notices it the same instant he does, and as he quietly calls for her attention her eyes are locked. She is a rifle, locked and loaded. As Gavriel moves, so too does Sangilak. She is watchful of his movements, and though she is the one above him in the hierarchy, it seems she wants to learn from him to be able to move well with him in this. What were his thoughts? His tactics? She was at the ready, though moved in a straight-line toward the two red creatures who still, as of yet, had not noticed them.

It isn’t much longer that they are noticed and their chance at the kill are slimming. The pests don’t belong on the base of their mountain and Gavriel’s intention is to prove that. The foxes may not stand a chance, or cause little damage, but they were pesky enough to stir up some trouble if they go and further into the territory. One darts off across the valley, well before he’s able to get to it, but the other scrambles in confusion and, somehow in his pursuit, ends up between the two wolves.

Gavriel offers a fleeting glance toward Sangilak, a snarl once he’s focused back on the overgrown rodent, and begins to charge the creature back toward the dark woman.