Moonspear all my friends are heathens

A simple sign of respect was all Njord required to loosen up. The stranger seemed to inherently understand this and so, when he showed his deference, Moonspear’s gamma gave a light shake of the pelt to break any tension. His jowls slackened into a smiling pant, glad to see their guest had good instincts.

“Njord,” the red-tail supplied in response. “Our pack is named Moonspear, after the mountain we stand on.” The man couldn’t help but ruminate over the question Argent posed: what kind of pack were they? Njord had never pointedly asked Sialuk, and so he took some liberties and described the kind of pack he desired for his family.

“We are stoic brothers an’ sisters,” Njord words were firm. Confident. “This palisade is our home. We care for tha land an’ raise our families among its pines an creeks. There is equal opportunity for all. A village,” he surmised.

“Ye can find purpose here,” he ventured, wondering if this man searched for a new hearth or if he simply desired intel. "Why do ye ask?"