Stavanger Bay into the rushes

A lumbering white male appeared before long, casting a disapproving glance to Gluska before remarking that he was awfully close to the borders. A crinkling smirk curled the coywolf’s lips upward and he peered, unafraid, at the pale creature. “Close,” he repeated, though left the remainder of the sentence open for interpretation. The accent that had played across the opposing male’s words was one that the trickster was entirely unfamiliar with. Their lands were peculiar and boasted a vast variety of beliefs and cultures. It had, originally, been curiosity that had dragged the nimble Gluska to the borders of the bay, but as he stood on the edge of their lands, he wondered if it would be curiosity that kept him there. He could have toyed with the thought of pledging himself to the ranks of a pack, and one so near to Caiaphas would have been ideal, but he was more interested in the specimen before him.

The hulking white creature was something of a beast to behold. Tall figure, thick muscles, donned with battle scars – no doubt. Gluskap was quite the opposite. His lengthy ears and lightsome frame only demonstrated that he was cut from an entirely different cloth. The Viking that peered at him was a creature of mass and action. Gluska was a creature of tricks and baneful actions.

Lifting his narrow muzzle upwards, the coywolf flicked his tongue across his fangs and leered at his large companion. There were no more words to fall from his dark lips. He could not see a reason to speak unless a question was posed for him. Still, Gluska was waiting to see what the Viking would do with him. His sharp yellow eyes danced like a flickering flame as he followed the sharp curvature of the pale man’s shoulders and back. A specimen indeed…