Moonspear Are things that are not so uncommon

Finally got this up, ahhh. Set for directly after this thread.

After Floki had taken his leave, @Zoratto was left with the foreigner in order to be shown around. He was more than happy to do so, still thrilled over the fact that at least one of his traveling companions had decided to settle within the same pack as he had. Whilst he understood that his friend might not be too happy with him at the moment, he’d looked passed that in favour of getting him settled in. There wasn’t too much to be shown to him since they wouldn’t be hiking into the higher levels, but it was still a nice territory that deserved to be explored. Alastor moved at the same pace as his companion, unconsciously bumping shoulders with him every now and again.

“You’ll like it here,” he assured, looking over at Zoratto. “It’s a mountain, but nothing here will hurt you.” He didn’t share the same beliefs as the masked wolf, but he tried to be as respectful of them as he could. It wouldn’t do either of them any good to argue over what they each thought to be true, and so Alastor would never try to. He’d understand if his friend never got to see the rest of the mountain, however disappointing that’d be.

He followed Alastor, uncomfortable as they strode through the territory of his new khalas. They were not mobile, a strange thing to the nomadic Dotharan, but it was a necessary byproduct of their situation; winter was coming, and soon, and Zoratto was stuck in a strange land with only a half-understanding foreigner to help him. The masked wolf grunted noncommitally. Sure, He shrugged. Alastor could make whatever promises he wanted to, but Zoratto still was suspicious of the mountaintop.

It was hard to tell if he’d ever be able to show his friend the peaks of a mountain, but that didn’t discourage him. For as long as they both lived, he would assure Zoratto that there was nothing to fear—or if there was, that he would keep him safe. Though he doubted that his help might ever be accepted should they encounter a situation where Alastor’s pacifistic ways needed to be put aside, that wouldn’t keep him from at least trying. Whatever he had to do in order to show that he was more than capable of keeping the spirits away, he would do so without complaint. For how long it might take, he could not even begin to predict, but also felt as if it didn’t matter. For though he wanted to remain respectful of all cultures, he really wanted for the masked wolf to see the world from atop a mountain.

Slowing—so as to limit his chances of stumbling—he looked to his partner once again, but this time it was out of curiosity. “Do you have any sleeping customs?” the Greek asked. “We can find you someplace warm to sleep that adheres to them.” He wanted to make sure that Zoratto was as comfortable as he could be made to be, especially since the situation itself was likely as uncomfortable as it could possibly get. It bothered him, still, to have put someone he considered a friend into such an unsettling position, and so he was determined to make up for it.

His brow furrowed with confusion; sleeping customs? What on Earth did he mean by that? Dotharan get tired; we sleep, It wasn't a complex concept, unless the Greeks did something different. He wouldn't be surprised if they did. These other cultures were so confusing with their traditions and rules...he wasn't sure if he would exactly fit in here. It already seemed like he was being given strange glances for his reluctance in climbing the mountain. Is simple. I will find den here.

What he’d expected to hear, he wasn’t entirely sure. For as strange as his culture was to Zoratto, the same could be said in regards to the masked wolf’s own. He knew not what sorts of customs they might have, or if said guidelines extended into the night whilst they slept. He knew so little about the sort of upbringing his friend had had, which didn’t sit right within him.

Shaking his head, the idea was dismissed for the time being. If there were no particular customs for him to learn about now, then he wouldn’t dwell on the subject. Instead, he’d moved forward with the conversation and asked, “Would you like help with finding a den? Or digging one?” Though he’d never been especially good at finding suitable locations for himself, he wanted to offer whatever he could in order to ensure that Zoratto was as comfortable as he could be.

Zoratto shrugged. He did not mind the help, especially when he did not know the territory very well. He was still unwilling to climb to the top of the mountain, but he would go a little above sea level. After all, the Plains were not entirely flat. Need good place, no snow get in, He snorted, recalling one winter where he made an exceptionally shallow den, and was buried in snow by morning.

A suitable location was crucial to the making of an effective den. Should the snow be allowed to get in, then the boy would freeze—or, if weak, the den itself would fall atop him. The negative scenarios were, of course, possibilities that the Greek wished not to witness turn into realities. Zoratto had quickly become a good friend despite their differences, and so the idea of seeing him hurt bothered the foreigner; the idea of seeing anyone in pain bothered him, actually. Alastor simply wasn’t capable of hardening his heart and looking the other way. When help was needed, he’d step in, and if he could prevent injury, he’d do exactly that.

The glacial gaze of the older male swept across the land, seeking a spot that stuck out, but finding none. Thereafter he’d focused on his friend, a suggestion on the tip of his tongue. “What if it’s dug into the side of the mountain?” he’d said, having unintentionally presented it as an inquiry. “Facing the south, I think it might be able to shield you from the snow.” Think being the key word there. It was rare for Alastor to reside within a den nowadays, even during the colder months of the year, and so his knowledge of what made a good one was limited.

Like Alastor, he knew little of digging dens. At night, the Khalases simply huddled together in their little cliques; the patriarch, his principle wife, children, and favored servants, the others around them. In winter, they nestled at the foots of the hills, sometimes hiding behind rocky cliffsides, or carving out shallow scoops if needed. But never the deep dens these packs did. He shrugged in agreement with Alastor. He seemed more knowledgeable anyway.

What do you do when you have two wolves that know nothing about the art of building dens?

I don’t know—call an architect, probably.

Too bad there were no architects around for them to call, leaving the duo to carry on with Alastor’s idea. The shrug had been all the support he’d needed to move forward with his plan, leading his friend southwards in search of a nice starting location. He’d kept quiet as he walked along, eyeing the land around him and focusing on the vision he had within his head. Then, when at last he’d found a place that seemed suitable enough, he’d stopped and smiled, saying, “This will work,” somewhat excitedly. With little more than a toss of his head, he’d moved nearer to the risen patch of land and proceeded to dig. He’d keep digging, too, until Zoratto asked him to stop.

When at last the den had reached completion, Alastor moved aside so that his friend could check things out. Thereafter, the two had spent a little more time together, before goodbyes were given and the Greek began his hike back up the mountain.