Swiftcurrent Creek Lallybroch

The stranger did not flee as he approached, but Njord was keen to her apprehension. He did not push into her space and changed his posture to a calm, easygoing stance. His tongue washed over his nose as he took a moment to shake his pelt – a disarming social gesture. In all, it spoke: I am friendly, I mean no harm. Perhaps his older brother might have been more brutish or forward, but as the little brother, Njord had an acute empathic quality.

Hi, she reciprocated in a friendly tone. Njord was close enough to observe her in better detail, but could not glean scent from this distance. She was a woman broaching middle age, cobby with a thick winter pelt of rustic browns ranging from cinnamon to shale. A liver nose (which Njord had never seen) complimented her warm look. The clean sheen of her fur suggested she was apart of a pack.

“I’m a scout lookin’ ta learn this ‘ere terrain. Get a better understandin’ of tha mountains an’ valleys. I live by tha coast with my pack. M’name’s Njord Sveijarn-Corten, what’s yours? Do ya live ‘round ‘ere?” he asked, not realizing she was apart of Rivenwood.