Moonspear helpless

Nose to the dirt and snow, the man finalized burying the muskrat carcass to a cache closer to @Njord and his wife—an offer of his gratitude and the hunt and enabled him to ease some of his tension that lingered in his muscles. Stirred by his unease, he assumed—the unknown stretching before him a little longer as he waited for a she-wolf by the name of Sialuk to assess his worth to her home.

The moon waned in the distance as the shadows spurned by the sun stretched further—his time here had been short before a call beckoned to him—his gaze drifting upward to the direction she called.

A flicker of recognition that this was the moment he had waited for, the silver man moved with a serpentine grace that had been bestowed upon his father—streamlined, much like the basilisk before him.

With the sun dipping further in the horizon, Argent’s silver and blue eyes fell upon the mountain’s regal—fur blanketed of porcelain and pale marble—intricate as the stone.

Njord’s words of course rang in his mind—still trying to determine how to decipher the man’s intent and settling only upon the fact the man hoped to encourage more members to their borders. Sweeping his form lower to the ground in a display of his submission to her, Argent waited to be spoken to—the culture of what they called a village still unknown fully to him.