Crush High

Despite Tuwawi's initial conclusion that this youth's personality was cold as ice, his next introduction felt more tepid and genial. Syver Hákon Ironside was he name her offered with a unique lilt. The word Ironside stuck out against obviously more foreign titles. Was Ironside a family clan? A suffix to denote a certain skill? She could not be sure, but curiosity threatened to inquire further about the unusual naming convention. However, the young man didn't strike her as particularly gregarious and so she tempered her interest.

"I am Tuwawi Sveijarn," she told him with demure gaze, "the pleasure's mine." Though, the name had not been the one mother had bestowed her. Fauve Maike was a thing of the past. "Norse? Is that what you call your langugage? I do not speak it, no. Many others do not know that tongue, either." She paused in reflection, and thought of Týrr. "Though I have heard similar words uttered now and again. There might be a few around these parts who share it. Many travel through here." Teekon was a melting pot of faces and cultures. Some wolves derived from the north while others flocked from the south.

She stepped towards him to close the distance, and gingerly reached out her muzzle to smell at his pelt; it was proper etiquette, after all. "What bring you this way? Aren't you far from your origin?"