Swiftcurrent Creek How do ye do

As it turned out, the fellow pack mate, but ultimately a stranger, and Nefarious were much closer than the Shaman had originally assumed. Or perhaps, the other had moved closer — if the sound of bracken and autumn debris under foot was any indication. Lips curled back on instinct as Nefarious recoiled back, startled by the fact that one moment he was suddenly looking at thick, obscuring fog and the next he was literally face to face with the guy — eyeing up the other's scar. A heavy breath was taken in hopes of controlling the rush of adrenaline. Nefarious felt a tree against his rump, the harsh bark tugging at the fur there but he didn't bother moving away from it, looking to keep some breathing room between them, despite that, accordingly, the other male had taken a few steps back. It was harder to see him now, granted, but Nefarious appreciated the lack of intrusion upon his personal space.

The other male spoke, causing Nefarious' brows to furrow. The Kesuk did not understand the first words that the other male spoke, in reality only picking up on the word “mornin'” and the way it was spoken — as a question. For a moment Nefarious did not respond, mostly because he didn't want to run off his assumption and be wrong but also because, if his assumption was correct he really wasn't sure what was the socially acceptable response. “Ok, I guess. You?” He eventually settled for, hoping that it sufficed, and more importantly, that the other man understood the common tongue.