Blood on my Hands

It was but one of his names but with the same meaning; their language could do that. In Inuktitut, it was the first she thought of... but she recalled how her mate had given him the same name, simply a different dialect. As he responded appropriately, she seemed to relax even moreso. It was pleasing to know he had a good mind within him, one that respected authority. It did not stop her curious mind, which wondered at how he would do here. She knew better than to judge one by their stature; she was sure the man was an apt fighter, when it came down to it. And if he was not a mountaineer, he could (and surely would) become one.

His explanation as to why he had called to her was met with shifting lobes. She was glad he had, and she supposed she need not explain her own intent in letting him settle. It didn't matter. It was better this way. Her head tilted to his next question. "Not always." Today was one of those fortunate days (for others, though namely him in the moment) where she could stand the presence of others. Even the days she could not stand it were tolerated when the other was tight-lipped. Speech seemed such a part of others lives... she still could not understand it.

Did this mean he wished to patrol with her? She did not know. He could want to get to know her. So, as to invite him along, she gestured to the earth in a sweeping movement of her muzzle as she took some long-legged strides forward. If he could not guess by her tone that today was one of those said days she would not mind him (or anyone) coming along (which was difficult to do for those who did not know her), he had it written out for him now.