Drinks are on me!

Arverk's keen eyes did not miss the smirk that spread across the russet wolf's maw. His blue gaze drifted towards the view offered once more, mentally admiring the scene below, outwardly though, he was as stoic as ever. Slowly, he turned to the Alpha Male, watching as the golden male scratched his ear before pulling his large body completely out of the water and shook his coat. Droplets of water landed on the swarthy Spine wolf's coat, but he ignored them, the droplets would simply settle on top of his fur.

Iqniq. The russet wolf's name was also of the language Tonravik had spoken the day he sought acceptance by Ouroboros Spine borders. Arverk wondered if this Iqniq was also one of them, and by one of them, he meant born and raised like them. Curiosity burned beneath his breast, wishing for it to be put into words and then to be spoken aloud. Surprisingly enough, the Roman obliged this time. "Do you speak Tonravik's language?"

Iqniq asked a question in return, asking what he meant when he spoke of tracking. The briefest of smiles spread across his lips for a moment before answering, "I meant tracking the path of prey, of wolves, of all creatures. I used to track down offenders of my natal pack and kill them," Arverk expertly kept all the wistfulness from his voice, expression remaining as stoic and impassive as ever.