Altar of Twilight bad company until the day i die

Would he had been the effervescent, sappy romantic type he would have found the Altar of Twilight — though he did not know the name of the territory they currently occupied — to be a marvel sight. Yet, this was not the type of man that Sigtýr was, or realistically would ever be. Perhaps his slave wives found the territory to be splendid — and even if they did he wouldn't ask — but he did not intend for them to stay long, not so close to the borders of claimed territory. It was not the claim of other wolves that bothered him, but he preferred not to have a pack breathing down his neck and surely there were better territories to haunt. He had no real intention of shacking up with any packs already established, confident that he and his slave wives would not be welcomed so readily. Yet, he didn't have to think that far ahead. Spring would be upon these lands soon and with it the influx of prey would come.

Yet the sight of the moonlight upon the walls of the rock was little compared to the young woman before him. The fiery shades of her coat accented her features well, and the wardog was nothing if not a shallow beast; though he found himself wondering if her personality was a fiery to match. He already had a firecracker in Herja but he didn't particularly mind the woman's fire, though it had proverbially burned him before. Herja and Eir balanced one another nicely, but he found it hard to focus on the two women awaiting him. His attention and eyes kept drawing back to the young woman standing before him. Perhaps she weary, and perhaps the wardog could not blame her if it was true.

“I am from a frozen wasteland far north of here,” A harsh environment that bred harsher wolves. “You are unlike any wolf I have seen before,” He murmured in a manner of compliment, his interest mutable in his tone before he began to slowly circle her, so he might assess her in full. His steps were heavy and he kept his distance, giving her, her space but he was unable to help but think how she would make a good slave wife. She was small, yes, but so was Eir. It wasn't a matter of knowing them or not, but more of a matter of if he wanted them. And she had piqued his interest, thus sparking the want; her youthfulness was a nice bonus. “Your fur is like fire.” Sigtýr stated simply as he ceased his steps when he was standing before her again. “What do they call you?” He inquired though if he managed to snag her as a slave wife — though he had yet to decide how he would go about it — her name mattered little. In fact, it mattered little regardless for even if she managed to escape his clutches he would bestow her a new one as he had Herja and Eir, nevertheless.