Iktome Plains no snow here

Though he liked to believe himself a true speaker of souls, Dagfinn had nowhere near the experience necessary for such a title. For while his brother Laerke would have no trouble identifying the twist of the lovely wolfdog's features as an expression of sorrow, Dagfinn could not. He had no basis for the look - all his life had been joy, and joy was all that he knew. Even when warriors had died, litters perished, winters languished, Dagfinn had remained largely untouched, folded into the happy bubble of his family. War had been but a distant dream to the dark youth - and a good one, at that.

So he discounted the strange expression as a feature of the woman's delightful otherness, and drew a few steps nearer when she seemed receptive to his charms. His voice grew low and throaty as his song reached an apex and died into a few stretched and stringent chords.

Song finished, he sought to gain more information about this child of beauty. Later on, he would invent more songs in her name; the fey grace of this creature would become that of legends, if he had anything to say about it!

"I am graced by your presence," he said grandly, offering the young woman a deep bow to display both his esteem for her and his harmlessness. Instead of straightening out of the position, he pressed his belly to the floor and looked up at her, more lyrics whirring through his mind as he took in her tufted ears, her oceanic eyes, the feathery weight of her pelt. "How can I serve you, pretty one?" he asked, still enchanted. "I am an adventurer and a bard. I will sing any song, tell any story, deliver any message for you, free of price. The price is an easy one - only tell me your story, and I will be at your command!"