Sun Mote Copse "Eins, zwei, drei ... Ugh, I do not think we brought enough body bags."

So, Fräulein @Giana, He began as they strode away from the border, deeper into his new pack's territory. He looked around, speaking over the bag grasped tightly in his mouth. For a religiously fanatical cult of pregnant lesbian feminists, they had a lovely territory.  He wondered what it would look like in spring; if he would stay that long. 'ow 'ave you been carryink? You pups, zhat ist. Any problems?

Giana, obviously, didn't want to be doing this. The man -- and especially the strange and unnerving bag in his jaws -- was weird and so was his accent, so conflicting with her own soft, graceful Italian one. The ivory woman jerked her head roughly at him to follow, waddling stalking into the Copse without a plan in the world to say more than she absolutely had to. This was business, a favor to Eshamun -- when his voice clashed in her ears, she glanced distastefully and, more importantly, mistrustfully with her stormy gaze. 

                                 "Fine. Where did you learn about medicine?"

Some part of her knew that she should tell him about the painful aches in her belly, ones she hadn't had the first time she was pregnant -- this, of course, could only be indicated by the very slight hesitation before her cold words--, but he was a stranger. Strangers were not to be trusted, especially not when it came to her children's lives.

She did not trust him. And with good reason, but he would not prove that just yet. For now his pleasant, friendly doctor mask remained, lest they truly earned his respect, or he was finally chased out. Her storm-cloud eyes locked onto him. She questioned where he learned his craft. He chuckled, Vell, dat is a long story, ja? I am in my third year, Fräulein. Zere were many sources, He shrugged, I first learned vith my birth pack, naturally. Basics about 'ow to treat cuts und sickness. Und vhen I left I learned more. Accumulated more knowledge over zhe years. I learned about pregnancy und babies two years ago, vith a midvife. Ever 'eard of zhose? I suppose you could call me a midhusband, zhen.

Licking her lips and setting her gaze again on the path to the shrine -- slow and waddling as it was hurt her soul, having to talk to him much longer than she'd have to with her normally spry frame -- Giana was stonily silent through his short tale. Even she had to admit, with three years of experience, he had to know something.... Much more than she did, at any rate. The woman never had picked up on the general Angelo herbal knowledge, and she couldn't tell if anything he'd give her was poison or medicine; thats exactly why she didn't allow strangers to give her herbs. After the last time she'd unknowingly ingested them, she was not as stupid as to trust him again. 

                         "I don't take herbs, so you're not of much use to me, are you? Asherah will be my ostetrica if I have need of one, and for anything my children need."

The chilly words were Giana's nicest way of telling him not to come around her cubs -- or her, by extension, once they'd been born -- and not to expect her to eat anything from him. She could be nice for now, for the sake of peace, but until he had earned her trust -- or hatred -- she wouldn't allow him to set even an eye on the little ones.

He watched as she moved, painful in her steps, waddling with the girth of her stomach. And yet she denied his not-yet-spoken offers for herbs. He tilted his head, So you vould endure unnecessary pain? Vhat if zhere is somezhing wrong vith zhe pups? Somezhing zhat only 'erbs could 'eal? He wondered what might have happened to her to make her so skeptical. He relished the challenge, but it still annoyed her how biased she was towards all medicine. 

Vhere are ve goink anyvay? He asked, looking around, trying to internalize his surroundings.

Giana felt the warmth of his gaze boring into her pelt, and though it made the Baakar want to squirm, she held both her tongue and body language in check. His words, however, brought a reaction, and she turned her face to him with a curl of her lip to flash her fangs, snapping viciously with her words before again swinging her head to stalk forward.

                  "I wouldn't endanger my pups. If I thought herbs would be the only way to help, I'd go to one of the wolves I know and trust."

 Tail lashing, she kept to her duty of showing him around. When he questioned her, she grumbled, and gave no answer. They broke into sight of the stone altar, and she nodded to it.

                              "Many prey to Molech here, and to my knowledge it is where most ceremonies and meetings take place."

I don't know a lot about the internal territories so I have to be vague *cringe*

Her lip curled at his words, but Bastian did not balk. Not for mere verbal threats. He continued to smile, shrugging at her dismissal. As you vish, Fräulein, She would not submit now, but if she got sick...well then. Things might change. 

They arrived at the altar, his acidic eyes washing over the place, commiting it to memory. Did you find it like zhis or did you Malkaria make it?

Giana might have found the smile a little odd, had she the decency to look at the man she was charged with -- even when they'd stoped to admire the altar, she didn't look to him, but padded the extra couple of feet to bow at the forelegs to the shrine, praying silently to Molech. Hell, even after a few seconds had passed, and the ivory warrior had righted herself with a wobble and a wince, her stormy gaze swiped around them. Her anger had quelled with his acceptance, but that didn't mean she cared -- Giana Angleo was a creature of great vanity and perhaps a little absolutely, totally, without a doubt sexist, and the fact that she'd been charged to escort the man made her stomach turn. She'd only needed a man three times in her life: two sire her two litters, and the one who raised her.

                 "I wasn't a founding member, but I think they found it this way." 

For someone who'd only weeks ago nearly made a girl cry because she hadn't been looking at her when speaking, Giana sure was being a hypocrite -- something she was also known for -- by the way she twisted around to lick at her stomach, never once turning her gaze to him, she showed her lack of respect. 
Luca would have cuffed her around the head for it, but her Padre was not here -- she could act how she wanted, now.

She was being rude, but at this point Bastian didn't mind it anymore. She had made her position clear the moment she met him. He watched quietly as she approached the altar, bowing in reverence towards the altar. He frowned briefly; this Molech worship was quite annoying. The women couldn't seem to stop talking about him. Her? It? He was still confused as to what this deity was. Eshamun claimed that it had eight legs, like a spider. Did they really believe such a thing existed?

He kept such thoughts to himself; winter was too risky a time to be alone. Interestink, He looked up at the stone structure, wondering how such a thing came to be. Certainly not a spider-legged wolf.

It seemed the more she acted out, the less he cared: this both infuriated Giana and quelled her stubborn heart, but eventually she did turn her gaze back to him -- his chest, not his face--. So far, he'd dealt with her shit -- she could say, at the least, he was patient -- and hadn't asked a million useless questions, as the ivory fae had expected from a man. Perhaps he could suffice as another body for the Winter, as Eshamun clearly saw him fit. Maybe she'd jumped the gun a little too early: Molech had brought her here, why was it so strange that the god would bring Bastian?

Her stormy gaze noted his more than confused gaze, but as he was silent she didn't choose to comment. 

                   "So, uh, there isn't much else to show-- you'll have to find your own den, but I can show you the place our other Katimir sleeps."

Licking her lips -- and feeling more than a little foolish for her behavior that this man took so easily in stride -- Giana turned her gaze to his face only briefly before jerking her chin towards the thicker scent of Ar-Khalba and where she knew he ruled the men. Fully silent, she set off at a waddling gait to the glade.