Stavanger Bay i have an instinct that can never be reversed

@Qilaq i know you said you'd start this Mica but i had the muse so i went ahead and started it for us — i hope you don't mind! also, 'turo found what very little is left of ragnar's grave. xD

The morning was warm, but humid. It hung heavy in the air of the forest of the Bay, the moisture thick and salty from the brine that blew off the ocean and carried up the beach and into the forest. The gangster was certain that he would never completely wash the salt off of his coat. It had taken him so long to grow accustomed to being so near the sea when he'd grown up in a hollow so far from the sea. Riptide might have been sea-faring but Arturo was not. As the woman who called herself Lagertha had so graciously pointed out to the gangster: he didn't really belong here; but that wasn't her call to make. Arturo stayed out of his respect for Skellige, in need to continue honoring the alliance they'd struck with one another during the famine, but he also stayed because of his mental instability, because of Riptide. This was the best place for the sea witch until he ...left or Arturo healed or whatever the hell needed to happen for Riptide to be nothing but a distant and embarrassing memory to cringe and laugh about.

The sun was rising in the horizon, it's orange and golden rays reaching out to touch him through the ash trees which had thinned out as he neared a clearing. Nestled beneath the tallest ash tree was a small arrangement of gnawed bones and what appeared to the gangster to have once been a long hole in the ground. A small mound of dirt still remained, shielded from the rains and the wind but the grave had mostly been re-covered haphazardly by nature's hand, the markers scattered and some of it probably stolen. No doubt the corpse of the poor bastard had been stolen and eaten, too. For why else would it have been uncovered? “No fucking respect for the dead,” Arturo murmured under his breath, giving his head a shake. For a few moments Arturo stared at what he'd assumed to be a long since empty grave wondering whom it had been for. Probably someone important to someone because it was obvious from what scattered pieces remained that a lot of effort had gone into it. Yet, he didn't linger by it long.

Respect for the dead had been something that he'd always had; even if he didn't put much stock into the rituals that his mother had held for those who had passed away in the Hollow. He turned from the grave knowing that in a few more months nothing would remain of it. Very little remained of it now. It wasn't really his concern, anyway.

Since having been in her new home for so long, with neither of them taking her to her parents or her parents coming for her, she's gotten rather used to it. Neither of her parents cross her mind much anymore though, once in a while, they flutter by secondhand. If they hadn't come for her now, they've probably forgotten her and sometimes that upsets the young girl. Today seemed to be a particularly hard day as she waited outside of the den, curious to know if they might show up and take her home. Will she even go, at this point? Amayo and Appeh have done so much for her in the last several weeks and her love for them has grown that she doesn't think she can leave them. 

The girl grows tired of waiting. Neither caretaker seem to be around to entertain her and no one else has stopped by. She doesn't see many other wolves and the den night some time ago had been rather overwhelming for her with faces she didn't recognize and wolves she hasn't seen since.

Perhaps if she goes on a search, she can find one, but as little fun as she had compared to the others, she really isn't sure that is what she wants either. So, instead, the girl picks herself up and begins her trek away from the den. Maybe to find Amayo or Appeh, maybe not, but sitting in one spot all day isn't what she has in mind.

With the ocean still to the back of her, the crashing of waves in her ears, she finds herself near a wolf that sort of seems familiar. The daylight illuminates all his features where the night sky had darkened them. The scent triggers something into her mind but the familiarity is lost upon her. Grey eyes stare ahead as she shrinks back, surely she has been seen, but nevertheless she makes an attempt to hide from the stranger.

Arturo had no desire to linger too long around what little remained of the desecrated grave, though a thought that came to the forefront of his mind unbidden gave him physical pause, his steps ceasing. There was a slight cant to his head, a furrow to his brow. What if Riptide had taken from the once obviously cared for grave? It was a useless consideration. The skeleton had long since been exhumed but there had once been what appeared to the gangster to be some sort of shrine. He turned back to it with a startling abruptness as if the ghost of the beast it had once belonged to had appeared. Arturo did not believe in such things, though his warrior queen mother's sister had been a “Soothsayer” in the Hollow. Ramblings of a mad woman, Arturo had always believed but had never dared to utter to his mother who believed in her sight infallibly.

His head lowered towards the ground and drunk in the scents that adored the trodden ground, noting that his current scent was the only trail he'd left. There were no older scents that belonged to him and that soothed the irrational anger that had prickled at him at the horrendous consideration. It wasn't as if Arturo paid much attention to Riptide's morbid collection of bones at the back of his den. The only time Arturo had fancied the idea of collecting bones from prey had been when his children had been teething. Bones were useful treats, good for teething and puppies generally enjoyed them as toys. Lest he wanted one as a treat to savor the sweet marrow they held he did not make a habit of keeping them around. His ears, which had slicked back to rest at half mast atop his skull, perked and cupped forth and then swiveled to the sides of his regal crown, alert, at the sound of soft, approaching footfalls upon the earth.

Slowly, Arturo turned curious to see which light footed Depth wolf had approached, his fiery red-orange gaze sweeping the ash trees to land upon a small shadow with grey eyes. She had shrunk back into herself, as if she were afraid of him. He recognized her. Arturo knew not her name but she had stuck close to both Atoll and Szymon at the gathering. So very unlike Chusi who had approached him right off the bat. It caused an ache in his heart — that this small child was trying to hide herself from him; but that was his paternal instincts flaring. She had nothing to fear of him and yet Arturo understood that she did not know this. He was not her father and she did not trust him as a stranger.

He ducked his head, and lowered his posture, settling down, slowly as not to startle her into flight, sunk into an ease, sphinx like position upon the earthen floor. “It's alright, child,” The gangster made an effort to soften his deep, accented voice, as he had with Chusi. “I'm not going to hurt you.” Arturo made an effort to assure her, though whether it worked or not was beyond his abilities to predict. “I am Arturo.” He offered his name, in the hopes that she might do the same.

It only comes as a surprise to Qilaq that she has been spotted. No matter how much she willed herself invisible, she'd been unsuccessful, and the familiar wolf turns to her and sets his goal. She blinks a few times, eyes widening with uncertainty. One of her back feet dig into the ground as if she might turn and run the other way but he slowly lowers himself to the ground to make himself look smaller. Amayo and Appeh often do something similar when they speak to her, even when she doesn't respond, and so her ears swivel forward with more curiosity than before.

He says his name and Qilaq stares at him for a long time before she does anything else. Perhaps if she doesn't move for a long enough period, she'll eventually disappear or he'll grow bored, but neither of those things happen. 

Given his patience, she begins to army crawl forward to close the distance between them. She does not get close enough, however, but remains a safe several yards away and lowers her head to hover above her paws.

"Artu?" she tries, squints, and realizes it doesn't quite sound the same. She smacks her jaws a few times and whispers the sound to herself once or twice as she focuses on the ground in front of her. Instead of saying it louder, her grey eyes lift to try and catch his fiery gaze for a repeat so that she may practice once more.

Slowly, after some stretch of time, Arturo notices as the girl begins to crawl on her belly towards him, no doubt still unsure, still cautious. Though it bothered the patriarch, Arturo also extended an understanding. Her caution was not warranted — he would not dream of hurting her — but caution was not necessarily a bad thing. It was her survival instincts kicking in to play and in the face of strangers a good thing to exercise, especially for children. The gangster remains still as she approaches and even after she decided she'd come close enough. There was still plenty of distance between them but her willingness deceased the distance that she was comfortably with was taken to be a good sign. She attempted to repeat his name, and then squinted at him.

“Ar-tur-oh,” The patient gangster repeated to her, sounding out the syllables slow so that she might hear how he pronounced each of them. “Ar-tur-oh,” He said with a bit more flow, still placing an emphasis upon the syllables for her benefit. “Arturo.” He put them all together for her as he had the first time, studying her for a moment before his lips parted once more to speak, “Is 'Turo easier for you? You may call me Turo if you wish.” Nicknames were something he was fine with children using as some names tended to be complicated for them to pronounce (such as his own) and thus he did not hold children to the same articulation standards that he held his fellow adults.

Her repetition is interrupted when the other speaks, enunciating the word once, then twice, and saying it smoothly a third. Her grey eyes lift to stare at the way his mouth moves in order for her to mimic but he doesn't do it again and she tries to recollect from her short term memory. Again, she mumbles the words. breath her breath to perfect it and continues to do so until he speaks again. 

There's an alternative provided and she falls silent, staring at him for a long, unnerving moment in consideration. 

"Artu-turo," she tries again once the second half as been separated from the rest. It doesn't sound quite right, either, but close. "Turo," she then mumbles to herself, now uncertain what to do with this new information.

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The child tries again to pronounce his name, getting closer in her second attempt only to accept the shortened version of his name shortly after. "You were close." He encouraged her with a soft smile. Despite his reputation — the one he'd left behind him and the one he planned to rebuild here — the gangster enjoyed children. Perhaps it would be too bold to claim that the title of 'father' fit him well for his own opinions did not count but there was little he enjoyed more in life being a father and thus looked forward to his future litters. Some might claim that wolves like him had no business spawning. Whether it be in reference to his gangster ways or the fact that he was a half breed. Yet, in his children with Duana their coyote blood was diluted more than Arturo's was. Each generation of Fearghal that passed would lose more and more of it lest they chose a coyote companion as his mother had to sire or bear their children and Arturo did not think that his children were less for it as some others tended to think of him.

Drawn from his briefly wandering thoughts he studied the girl thoughtfully for a moment. She was quiet. Shy, it seemed to him. He understood. He was essentially a stranger to her. “What is your name?” He inquired, curious as to if she would indulge him or not, but his tone was soothing, easy. There was no pressure and no demand for it if she did not wish to introduce herself to him. She was so very unlike Chusi, Arturo could not help but compare. His soon-to-be ward did not seem to harbor the same inhibitions that this girl held close.

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Qilaq can't help the smile that comes to her features, a short flash of her teeth in a grin, and her tail thumps a few times on the ground. She makes another effort to get a little closer, inch by inch. Later, she will practice saying his name in the comfort of her own time but she knows she'll lose the source for confirmation. It's the best she has to offer herself and she quickly tucks the decision away when he says something else. A question, based on the tone, and her ears cup forward with a strained look on her face.

"Qilaq," she says and her teeth snap together in thought. What if he has the same trouble with her name as she did with his? Her ears swivel upon her head and she army crawls a few more inches so that she can say it a little louder, a little slower. "Key. Lack." Her voice barely above a whisper.

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In truth Arturo found that he struggled a bit on how to handle shy children. His own children had not been shy — not with other wolves and certainly never with him. Thus, the gangster deduced to keep up a light conversation, making sure to soften his tone, to make it encouraging but not overbearingly so. He understood that it was important to give them the option to decide their own boundaries of comfort, to allow them the escape to bow if he was too prying. He did not think his inquiry for her name in return was too prying — he kept the conversation simple: normal things that strangers indulged to one another. A part of him thought that Doe and Szymon should work to socialize the girl more. Not push to the point that they caused her anxiety but he did not pretend to be a perfect parent (for his kids would tell him that he wasn't) and it was something they would have to figure out for themselves. After all, each child was unique and they required their own parenting techniques. The trick was figuring it out and striking a balance. His own first litter had been a lot of trial and error and plenty of mistakes were made.

Arturo could only hope his future litter(s) would prove to be a little easier for him now that he would not be stumbling through the dark. He watched as a small, teeth exposing smile drew across the girl's maw and the gangster felt his heart warm, especially when she drew nearer slowly, a few inches at a time. He let her come as near as she was comfortable, keeping to his statue esque pose, determined not to move, not wanting to halt their progress or startle her away. To his surprise, she offered him her name in surprise, even going so far as to offer him a slowed pronunciation of it, as he'd done for her. “Key-lack,” He repeated the pronunciation slowly, studying her face for confirmation that he had the correct syllables. “Qilaq.” He put the syllables together, sure that his accent put a slight lilt on her name, regardless. “It's a good name.” He complimented her with a sage nod of affirmation of his own words.

If it had a deeper meaning it went unknown to the gangster who did not recognize the language it came from.

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Turo doesn't struggle with her name as she had with his but she doesn't dwell on it or try to figure out why. Instead, her smile brightens and her tail thumps a little harder on the ground as he says it a second time. Yes, yes, like that! she thinks but none of the words reach her mouth. She becomes far too focused on his name again rather suddenly, determined she will be able to pronounce the whole thing some time but it takes a great effort not to blurt it out again.

After a long moment of her feeling content, she's able to look at him with a bit more comfort than she had before. He reminds her far more of Appeh than the other males she'd been around, and thus reminding her of Amayo. His voice deeper but steady and sure, and she likes the way it sounds all the same.

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Though it was not outwardly apparent, or given by first impression alone it turned out that Qilaq was just as lively as Chusi — but in her own way. This girl was not as vocal as his young ward, but Arturo was pleased to see the progress he'd made from when he'd first seen her at the den night and the first few minutes of their conversation here. He watched as her smile brightened and her tail gave a few more thumps against the ground. None of his own children had been overtly quiet but he had raised them to be embody confidence. Admittedly, Arturo did not this girl's story and more than he knew Chusi's own. One day she was simply apart of Blackrock Depths as if she'd materialized out of thin air. As Arturo was familiar how pups came to be he knew that wasn't true, nor possible. He wondered if she, like Chusi, would be different would they have remained with their biological parents — blissfully unaware that his young ward and Qilaq were actually sisters.

“What do you like to do, Qilaq? Are you looking to be an apprentice on any trades?” Arturo inquired casually, trying to make conversation though the gangster would not have been offended if she chose not to respond. It had been an open question for her to do with what she would, anyway. He was simply offering her conversation but she was not obliged to keep it going if she was not comfortable.

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He asks her a question she hadn't been prepared to answer. She never had to think about what she actually liked. Amayo and Appeh let her do as she pleased, for the most part, but she rarely stepped out of line. Her direction is often off a little and she finds herself enjoying things they teach her. She'd liked swimming with Appeh that one day and playing under the stars with Amayo and visiting the waves and giggle when they touch her toes. Her nose wrinkles as she thinks of each one and a soft laugh escapes her.

"Sw-swim," she tells him, first, though she doesn't know what this might become long term or what trades were or how she is meant to be helpful. She learned when they taught her and when they didn't, she kept herself occupied.

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Qilaq replied that she liked to swim. A good thing, Arturo surmised, given where she had come to live. He knew how to swim, but simply because it was instinct to preserve his life in water that he could not touch the ground. It was not something he overly enjoyed doing, perhaps another sign that he was truly a black sheep among Skellige's wolves. Soon, Arturo would build his Family and take to his place as it's Patriarch but until then he appreciated Skellige's hospitality and did what he could for the Depths wolves. “That's good,” Arturo murmured to her. No doubt, if she had not yet experienced The Drop it was definitely a skill that might aid her in keeping her life; and if she had been through Skellige's “right of passage” for the children of the Depths then she was fortunate that she had survived it. It wasn't a trade, per say, but she was young. After all, there were plenty of adult wolves that had yet to earn their own trades, or even know what they desired to pursue. He glimpsed back at his shoulder over at the unknown wolf's desecrated grave, a frown tugging at his lips. “Care to join me for a walk?” Though Arturo did not buy into his mother's superstitions it felt wrong to idle so near to a disturbed grave and he did not deign to do so for much longer, knowing that he would avoid this area from here on out.

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Qilaq hadn't realized she'd done a good job when she said she enjoys swimming but her eyes light up anyway and her tail bats the ground a few more times. Good, she thinks, and her smile widens just a little more. She doesn't have to think of any more things she likes to do when he surprises her with another question. Her eyes widen a little and she picks herself up and takes a few steps in his direction. She bobs her head a few times and lets him lead the way.

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Arturo watched the young girl's eyes widened but she took a few steps nearer to him nevertheless. Whether there was some habitual fear of him or simply his question had came as unexpected to her didn't matter. Moments later he watched as her head bobbed in silent agreement. “Come on.” The gangster encouraged her the smoky, accented timbre of his voice gentle as he took the lead though when they were clear of the small clearing his pace slowed, inviting her to keep pace beside him.

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