Broken Boulder and he will drag the whole universe into war

she laughs at his analysis and he responds with a likely unseen shrug of his shoulders but he never jokes about his trade. everyone had their favorite trades or skills that they were just naturally good at. she didn't have to be a fighter but he put it out there that she had a natural advantage — several of them if utilized, that is — if she ever considered it. she didn't strike him as the warrior type per say but then again his new alpha didn't exactly fit his mold of what sort of wolf sprung to mind when someone mentioned an alpha. today was a good day for vilkas to learn not to judge books by their covers. "well that's...—" the nord trails off with a contemplative noise. pretty bad is what goes unsaid.

vilkas's steps cease when she announces that she's stopping and he avoids colliding with her as a result. she turns to him and he sees her eyes — glints of sunset orange in the dark — and uses them as a general guide as to the distance between them. if he looks close enough he can see the faint outline — a slight deviation in colors — of her muzzle. aside from the birthing den(s) both jorrvaskr and companions had had communal denning areas with nothing to separate the wolves from one another.

the firebrand side-steps and goes about inspecting the empty denning spaces. he pokes his head into the first one, shouldering his way in to the junction of his shoulders before determining it would be too small for him before he withdraws from it. "i assume ranks are based on primary trades," vilkas deduces, salmon pink tongue drawing across his jowls. this is the most he's spoken in quite some time. "so, what's your rank? what do you do?" while it was beneficial to meet the other wolves of the sanctuary it only makes sense to the firebrand to start with the packmate currently with him.