Stavanger Bay archaic

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She thinks him a scavenger, at first, but a twist of her head reveals him to be a wolf; not a hapless coyote or fox. A pretty wolf; at that, finely formed and handsome. His words come softly, curiously, and she replies in kind, her words lyrical as she replies, "both. they are final rites; a life should be honoured, even the long-faded and unfamiliar." She watches him, the ravens; sensing that the wolves no longer take an interest in the body, hop closer, wings rustling in annoyance. 

He smells of others; not only salt and wind and sea, as she does and has for so long now. This alone has her interest peaked, she knows they are some who settle on the coast, but has never sought them ought. She doesn't remark on this quite yet, but it lingers in the back of her mind as she turns toward the sea, adding, "someone, somewhere must care; for them, in part, I do this."  It is an ill topic to discuss upon first meeting, death, but here they are in the face of it.