Moonspear all my friends are heathens

The man’s voice a brogue—crooning, and in a way, relaxing. An ear flicked in deference and attentiveness to the man—mentioning their leader, a woman by the name of Sialuk. A twitch of his lip in consideration of the dropped hint regarding a partner—an odd statement, and the silver and ice eyes of the Sandraudiga sharpened, studying the man with quiet contemplation.

No doubt, a myriad of other suitors lined up for the she-wolf. For now, he was content to determine Moonspear itself, knowing his mother would have had her interest in the topic piqued by Njord's words—having begged her children for grandchildren for over a year now.

He had just never met the right she-wolf to settle him. And he was hesitant now, to believe it would ever happen.

A wisp of amusement laced his muzzle at the words, though he did not comment on it—his eyes knowing toward his companion. They were building a legacy here—pups would be a welcome addition, no doubt. It also implied Njord himself had taken himself from the running… Interesting.

When he mentioned he could stay for now, relief flooded him—something he hid well, though, given his training. Instead, his muzzle reclined lightly in gratitude. “Thank you,” he offered, his tail sweeping the cold air behind him, wondering if the next question too bold: “Am I correct to assume you have a family, if the one called Sialuk is seeking a mate?”