Blacktail Deer Plateau ◊;

he followed—not close, not pressing, but there, like a shadow drawn long by the sun. his steps were heavy but measured, the weight of a man who did not need to rush to keep pace. he watched her without staring, ears flicking once at the way she moved—quick-footed, sure, with purpose in her spine even when weariness dragged at her limbs.
when she turned back—paw to chest, voice quiet but clear—he paused. he did not understand the word, not truly, but the shape of it in her mouth, the way her gaze held his, told him what it was.
her name.
he looked at her, slow and solemn, then lifted a paw and pressed it to his own broad chest.
geirmundr, he said, the word low and thick in his throat, carved from old tongue and colder lands.
he did not smile.
but there was something softened in his brow.
then he moved again, silent as a glacier, keeping pace with the small black girl who did not yet send him away.