Swiftcurrent Creek welcome home

It is a habit for the Roman to memorise everyone's names and faces, even if they were strangers — it will be useful in the future. So, he eyes her carefully, but politely, and repeats her name in his head until it sticks. Katya Balthazar. Katya Balthazar. Katya Balthazar. Katya. She gives him more than a name — she includes a pack, it appears, and Trajan wonders if his luck is just about to run out. The gods are favouring him, but he doesn't think they will for long, they rarely did.

"Traianus Frostfur diAngelo," the greyscale shadow introduces himself easily, the lilt still in his voice. He does not bear the same caution to names as his father had, he is not afraid of backlashes, or curses, or the past coming back to haunt him. Besides, he has changed his name numerous times before, and now even his surname had been changed. He doubted many would recognise him, only those from early childhood, perhaps. And anyways, Trajan wants danger, he embraces it — he needs it, needs a purpose, something, anything. "But most wolves call me Trajan," the Romans adds with a thoughtful gleam in his bright bi-coloured eyes. The lilt vanishes, replaced by a perfect common tongue accent. The common tongue of Teekon Wilds is his first tongue, after all. It is the first language he has ever learnt. It comes easily to him, though Latin comes almost as close.

"My name is too much of a mouthful. The one I told you is a shortened version," there is humour in his gaze, and he shifts his weight between his paws. His posture is indifferent, casual, insouciant. The shadow stays silent and observes the girl quietly, then he speaks, "you haven't been there long, have you?" Trajan cants his head in a decidedly birdlike manner. "Morningside Cuesta, I mean."