Ankyra Sound you're just a ghost

The other male's cheery smile was almost disarming to Kjalarr who returned it with a soft twitch of his lips upwards, politely giving Slancio his rapt and undivided attention when he began to speak and thus began to answer Kjalarr's questions. Kjalarr had tried not to be too personal with them, unsure what Slancio might consider unnecessary and unneeded information and what he would not have issue sharing. It turned out that Slancio came from a place called Horned Owl Valley. A valley of trees, as the other male had described it. For a moment Kjalarr's eyes left his companion to flit around the spindly and skeletal remains with a pang in his heart. Absently, he came to the conclusion that he was willing to bet this “Horned Owl Valley” wasn't suffering from the famine as they were. In some ways, this hope was something that Kjalarr needed to have, he realized. That the swarm did not stretch on endlessly, forever, ravaging the earth until nothing remained. The world...and he was not ready for Ragnarök.

In some ways, it was nice to hear a simple history. Slancio's was nice, Kjalarr realized. He grew up and he made the decision to leave his home, presumably on good terms. Nothing like the mess that had been Kjalarr's own puphood. No bear Hel bent on eating him, no sea sweeping him onto this very Sound, no nearly starving to death, no manipulating adoptive mother who liked to use his once fear of bears against him to bend him into obedience, no speak of family feuds. It was almost relieving to hear that wolves could have what Kjalarr would consider a normal puphood. Hearing that it was possible Kjalarr made a silent vow that his children would know a simple and happy childhood.

Kjalarr offered Slancio a sage nod of his head, tail sweeping against his hind legs as he then spoke of the trades — one of which Kjalarr himself had his eye upon. “I too aim for Scout, though I'm aiming for both Ranger and Ambassador.” One of which was only recently added as a goal due to his promotion to leadership. It seemed important, somehow, that a leader be able to fill the role of Ambassador, as they were the embodiment of the pack and it's representative.

A soft chuckle left Kjalarr's lips as Slancio made his own deductions, right on some and wrong on others. “I do aim for Mercenary, that is correct,” Kjalarr conceded giving pause to draw his salmon pink tongue across his chops. “I was born in these Wilds, actually. In a territory south of here called Stavanger Bay.” Kjalarr informed him slightly sheepish. “My father was a Northerner though, hailing from a Valley in the very far North.” As to where Thistle came from, Kjalarr was ashamed to say that he did not know but he looked much more like Ragnar than his mother so it seemed the most appropriate to speak of Ragnar and his origins instead.