Permafrost Hollows badlands

As it stood, Eske had considered utterly ignoring the 'hey' that had been called out to her. The voice was unfamiliar but the woman's scent was of Drageda and that set the Grounder Princess at ease. Her hackles had bristled at the sound of approach and Eske did not bother to lower them. The wolf might be of Drageda but she did not appreciate being called out to so ...commonly. She was the Grounder Princess after all and though Eske was well aware how the line of hierarchy worked in the Grounder culture she would never be Heda. She was not a nightblood and her mother's vacant crown as Viking Queen would never be bestowed upon Eske's head she couldn't help but feel herself better. She was destined for greatness even if that greatness was murky and currently unclear to her. It was only after she marked a part of the borders did she finally turn to the dark woman who had called out to her, absently, her blue-green eyes the color of sea glass assessing the older woman with unreserved judgment.

Eske was quiet for a moment, running her tongue over the roof of her mouth as she deliberated between her native tongue — which was her preferred method of speaking — and the common tongue. She knew little of this woman, but remembered seeing her at the meeting. “Hei,” Eske greeted her in Trigedasleng. She rarely spoke anything else for it hadn't truly been much of a requirement except around Gyda who did not speak the language of the Grounders. For this purpose, Eske had been forced to learn the common tongue just as fluently and she could not deny that there was advantage to it. Still, she was a stubborn beast, if nothing else.