Moonspear tŷ, nid cartref

Llewellyn dips his head, eyes warming. "A pleasure to meet you, Charon," he rumbles. He is reluctant to give his own name, if only that he is unsure how much the wolves in these lands know of Mynydd. If they are wholly ignorant, then it is safe, but if they profess to have even the slightest knowledge. . .it could spell danger for him, should they be allied with Ioan and not his late father. He has come too far to risk being exposed.

He ponders the man's question for a moment, trying to think of an eloquent answer, but eventually gives the search up with a shrug. "To be honest with you, Charon, I simply need a home," he answers, hoping the response is adequate. "Your mountain called to me, and your borders are marked strong. I hoped--still hope--that I could contribute to a pack with such a fine territory, such strong membership." If this Charon chooses not to accept the response, then he will go elsewhere. Nothing will be lost; it simply means a few more days of wandering.

Llewellyn cocks his head, finally choosing to drop the question to which he needs an answer, desperately. "Tell me, what have you heard of a kingdom called Mynydd?" he asks, the slightest bit of trepidation in his voice. All the while his toes curl toward the ground, praying for Charon's face to stay blank and unknowing on this front.