Stavanger Bay into the rushes

The pale brute opted to break their silence with an introduction. Formalities had never been fair to Gluska, though he did understand why Ragnar would follow with such statements. Flicking his tail, the coywolf male nodded his head once, and slowly, before fixing his eyes on the lands behind the white Alpha. The pallid beast called himself a Jarl. Gluska found this odd. He was a dominate figure, therefore suggesting that his rank was at the head of the pack. Still, the trickster had never heard such a title before. He wondered where Ragnar had derived from to use such jargon.

“Jarl?” the coywolf echoed with an inquisitive gleam in his yellow gaze. He canted his head to one side and drew his lengthy ears forward on his skull. This single word was not uttered like the previous. This one was spoken with a genuine curiosity. “Strange…” Gluska then mused with a small smile and a spark in his vision. While he was not entirely looking to rile the massive white wolf, he was curious to see if his disregard for the male’s lifestyle would cause tension. Until that point, Ragnar had been quite patient. The ochre-tinged coywolf was there to see if it would last.

It was not long before an inquiry followed the pale wolf’s introduction. Gluskap drew his muzzle upwards and peered strangely at the Jarl before drawing his salmon-colored tongue across his dark lips. “I have lost something very important… her scent leads to your borders,” he lied with a frown.