The Sentinels the carving of the way

Then you are one, Alttayih said quite quietly, never once raising her voice to the man. She felt in this moment a sense of tension emanating from him - easily provoked? - but she made no move to tug at it. She felt no need to, for she had not been questioned further and this she did accept. For moments she wondered if he was a volatile flame fed by the salts and clear sea air but dismissed this thought, for the wolf felt him too frigid to be a fire; he greatly resembled a wind.

But, she was no longer the wolf, was she? She had named herself - Alttayih, the Wanderer - the wolf pondered this, knew that in the world she stood in she was but a girl-child. A yearling who spoke like an elder, perhaps, but she was fragile all the same.

What should I call you?

Wanderer/Alttayih smiled; privately she knew she had no way to skip around this one.

Alttayih, or whatever you desire. Why are you here, Szymon Cairn?