Gyrfalcon's Keep Salty dogs

The man stepped forward, casting a great shadow over his companion. Thyra found him similar to the mountain peak to the East; great, dark stone that blocked the wintery forests below from light once the sun sank behind it. Her posture did not reflect the sudden shift in his energy, but maintained that of an individual who was calm, but secure. His words were gentle, and he coaxed a slight uptick in her chin when he offered her a nickname. She liked it. 

"It is all well, I speak your tongue," She said. The woman greeted her, peering out from behind her protective companion. "Hello!" She chirped. There was a light, pleasant accent to her voice. Her inflections rolled, like foothills near a mountain range. "I am Thyra Torbinsdottir. I am settling here in this stem of mountains and forest with my packmate, Asvoria Biornsdottir." She said. There was a touch of pride to her voice, but a bit of hesitance as well; after all, they were only two wolves, and it was an ambitious piece of territory- but if this was the will of the Old Gods, it was the way it would be.