Northstar Vale Wuthering

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In the heart of the Vale, Warbone's presence had become steadily more prevalent as the days turned to weeks. He seemed to be working his way outward, establishing a concentration of his masculine scent everywhere he could in the woodlands before extending his claim outwards. Even if it were never more than just Saena and himself, he would still do this. It kept him from harassing the Marauders, or from otherwise committing reckless acts that would serve only to deal him an ill-conceived death. But he wasn't interested in the end of his life; at least, not anymore.

The titan prowled slowly— hunting, but perhaps not for prey he wished to consume. The dawnfrost layering the grass crunched noisily beneath his large paws, solidifying the notion that the wolf was uninterested in going unnoticed. He paused briefly to heft himself up on his hind legs, digging in his claws high up on the tree's trunk, leaving severe gouge marks for the casual passerby to notice.

After parting ways with Amber and Grayday, Dagfinn felt the need to allow his head to clear. Though he'd left with pretenses to visit his sister, Lotte, he knew as soon as he left their presence that he wanted nothing to do with company - at least, not for a few more days.

So, like any other individual in need of solitude, Dag had taken to the mountains, ranging across them with the difficulty that accompanied being raised in a flat tundra. The cold, at least, did not bother him, but the young male was duck-footed on the steady inclines and steep cliffs alike.

When he reached the long, flat meadow, Dagfinn thought he'd finally found solace - until he began to descend toward it and caught wind of the fledgling pack-scent that marked the edges of the green. For a long moment, the dark wolf thought of turning back and finding another path to take. He was not going anywhere, could not become more lost than he already was. Perhaps, he even thought, it is time to come down from the high places.

But he continued on his way, and when the scarred wolf came into his sight, he gave a low chuff of greeting, ears tilted down in an easy declaration - I come in peace.

Standing upwind as he was, Warbone wasn't truly aware of the stranger's presence until he was slow-turning towards the sound of an unfamiliar chuff. His chin raised automatically, even before his singular eye set upon the dark face of a wolf he realized belatedly that he had never met before, and the show of his teeth was staved fortunately by the respect shown to him. The base of his tail had arched at first, revealing his propensity for defensive aggression, but the rest of the appendage lifted now, giving a tentative wave as he padded forward boldly to come standing within a yard of the male.

He didn't say anything, but the forward-set of his shoulders and the dark expression upon his greyed face demanded to know what business the wanderer had here.

Dagfinn lowered himself almost imperceptibly as the unfamiliar wolf approached, tail sweeping tentatively behind him. Though the other had taken on a more assertive stance, he did not yet appear to be inclinced toward violence. Dagfinn drew a few steps nearer as well, nostrils flaring as he took in the other's scent, inquiring. His nose told him that the wolf before him had a decent -and mostly male - following, but perhaps there would be room for one more.

"Could you use another set of teeth?" Dag asked, realizing as he said the words that he intended to try and join this wolf and his fellows. A pack was not what he'd been looking for in these mountains, but a pack was what he found. Besides - it was as if he was likely to get a better option down the line.

Inwardly, Dag wondered what the other would make of his own scent. Though he'd never formally broken ties with Arthendal, he assumed that, by now, they would consider him a deserter. That was fine; he didn't plan on going back there and he doubted they would follow him here. Their scents had long faded from his pelt, at any rate, and Amber's and Grayday's had probably gone the same way. Would this wolf think him a loner? Is that was he truly was?

The male -- young and athletic, with eyes a shade of blue that seemed deeper than the sky -- came forward gently, his lissome body bowed slightly in acquiescence. He was curious and bold, his dark tail wiggling invitingly towards the warden as they took in one another's scent. He asked, unexpectedly, if there was need in the vale for another pair of teeth, and Warbone was thrown momentarily as the stranger's words warred casually with the smell of others clinging to him. Only one or two were anything recent; whatever else still holding on of his pack had been muddied greatly by passing days and distance. The born-again alpha wasn't inclined to worry about a previous pack, but it would be a mistake not to ask.

"Always," he rumbled, his tongue trailing thoughtfully over his lips and nose as he admired the young man in his entirety. He was finely built, and had a favorable demeanor... but was he also a liar? "You would be welcome here, to serve me, as I would serve you, yet you only offer your teeth and I smell at least one other companion on you. Not terribly recent, but recent enough for me to wonder... do they linger in my vale without my knowledge?"

Dag's ears perked as the wolf's first words came out promising, and then flickered in confusion when he asked after his companions. The stranger was eloquent in his own language, but to Dag's foreign ears, this only served to muddle his meaning. It took him a beat to sort everything out.

"I came alone," he said when he'd ferried the wolf's question out of his short speech. "My... my companions have their own pack - we only traveled together for a time."

He didn't know what to call Amber and Grayday. Companions seemed apt enough for the two together, but indivdually, they were a riddle to him.

Though it took a noticeable moment for the male to respond, Warbone couldn't decide if it was because he hadn't understood, or was simply fabricating a tale he hadn't come prepared with already. He made a conscious decision not to care, feeling much too interested in the malleable and brave young man to marvel too deeply about his past. Besides, he and Saena were making a point to leave their pasts behind, having decided that none of it mattered by way of simply not discussing it at all. He felt no need to do any deep digging here, either, and he let the answer suffice. "What is your name?" he asked, his slithering baritone softer now, though the set of the gargoyle's body remained unchanged for the time being.

A lifetime of reciting his name with pomp and circumstance should've prepared him for this moment, but when asked his name by the older male, Dag found himself at a loss for words. While this was a strange enough occurance for the young bard, it was made stranger still by his lack of desire to share his name, to be know.

Was he still an Ansbjørn? Could he use that name without shaming his family?

"Dag," he said with a breath like a sigh, but softer than that. "And you, herra?" he inquired, and this was spoken in something that much more resembled his usual friendly candor. He realized that he'd thus far only assumed that the man was leading her. "Am I right to assume you the Herra, here?" he added, tail whisking once more. Of course he was! No one in their right mind would try to be lord over this wolf.

Dag. His eye blinked slowly, shuttering like the lens of a camera, saving the face beneath the plaque of a name in his memory. He asked if he was Herra then, a term unknown to the titan, but it was easy enough for him to guess what it might mean. He thought it sounded feminine -- maybe it was an insult then? -- but Warbone did not look down on she-wolves for their gender. Sometimes for their weaknesses, sure, but the ability to house and birth their kind was nothing short of god-like in his opinion; being called any variation of a woman would not truly perturb him. "My name is Warbone, and I am alpha, warden— whatever you may call it— of this valley in the mountains. I am first among the wolves residing here, and my only equal is Saena, who you shall respect more than me, if you value your life." He sounded quite serious, though if there had been any malice emitting from him before, it was gone now.

The ink of Warbone's expression seemed to fade, making his face seem lighter, more at ease, as he motioned into the thick of the vale. "We have work, young Dag, if you are ready."

Warbone, he was called, and was First Among Wolves. Not herra. Dag didn't miss that, though he was supposedly invited to address the man in his own tongue. The young male dismissed this invitation. If the administration didn't like it, he wouldn't force it upon them. Would Saena like it better? he wondered, and then wondered what Saena was like beyond their title.

He did not have long to linger on such topics. Warbone had other things on his mind - things that Dag had no wish to keep him from. And, truth be told, "Work sounds really good, right now," said Dag, something like relief lacing his voice.

The lightening of the First Wolf's mood led to a lightening in Day's own, and he stepped deeper into their new lands with a feeling like stepping into a river and feeling dirt wash away from his pelt. Already, he felt lighter, freer. For the first time since getting here, it seemed, he was doing something for himself - even if it looked an awful lot like him doing something for Warbone, or Warbone doing something for him.

"Where do we start?" he asked, turning to his fellow with ears at attention and a happily-wagging tail.

"I thought you might assist me in deepening our presence in the woods," Warbone said, his eye lingering on the young male; "but I feel your energy would be put to better use elsewhere... A bit of sport, I think." He padded forward -- a wolf prone to physical connection -- and he gave Dag's shoulder a comrade's nip. "Up for a deerchase?" he asked the vale's newest recruit, not for a second believing that he would decline the task. They wouldn't hunt, per say, but as they went, Warbone sought to explain his intentions: driving whatever herds they could into the heart of the territory, ensuring that the pack would have food readily available for the colder weeks coming.

If they could harness their own food supply, even control it completely, then the wolves of the vale would never go hungry.

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