Alpine Lake circles

Lost in translation, he didn’t quite know how to respond to her first question. Her second one, however, earned her the tilt of his head as he pondered how best to define that situation he found himself in. He thought it rather clear crystal in its essence, but then again perhaps it all mattered on what defined a pack in the first place. That took a lot more thought that he was perfectly capable of, but even then he knew that the words would get lost in translation yet again.

His brow furrowed, thinking much more simply.

“Two make pack,” he told her. “Three make pack better, yes?” So they didn’t confine themselves to just one place in particular—not a big deal, at least to him. It had been that way for a long, long time; there had never been any sense in trying to fix what wasn’t broken. He didn’t know how to further explain things either, not that he felt inclined to suddenly share with her that they often did not have the best of luck in packs comprised of mismatched personalities and tempers.

“This one and brother follow óbyggðir hringja,” was all he offered her, righting his head once more. “The heimur is home for us. Everything—anywhere. Is it not yours too?” His ear turned to a not so distant bird call then, but his gaze still held her with the same unnerving strength he possessed. It was the same strength that dictated he push her towards a decision—they had use of another hunter and healer as they always would.

“So you come, yes?” Another stilted phrase; he nodded, head bobbling like a puppeteer.