Redhawk Caldera I'm wide-eyed, and it's midnight

She laughed lightheartedly at his attempts of saying her name. "Close, but not quite," she smiled. "Vasiliev," she spoke this time a bit more clearly, putting emphasis on the bit he had missed. She had an understanding at least -- many names here were hard for her to pronounce as well, and this was no different.

Her expression showed a flicker of concern at his question, though it was more of a slight frown. "I come from far up north. Very far. Took me a few years to get here....so," she trailed off. "Very far." But she had to get away. The pack she belonged to -- though ruled by her family -- was not the most magnificent thing she could remember. "The pack is called Fryst Skógur. My þræll Mordur and I ran away," though the statement seemed grim, she smiled at the thought of her friend. Wherever he was now, he was probably doing well.

"Sorry if that didn't make any sense," the girl apologized, realizing that the majority of that sentence probably was hard to decipher. "How about you, were you born here?" she queried, glancing at the male.