Swiftcurrent Creek welcome home

It was strange, Trajan thinks distantly, that after so long, he is back here, his first home. The place is silent and empty of strong wolf scents - there are only lingering ones of ghosts, drifters, wolves that came and left and rarely returned. That was fine with him; he'd rather not bump into any familiar faces. Taking a step forward, the greyscale man surveys the land through bi-coloured orbs with a kind of detached interest.

He hasn't seen his siblings for so long that he barely even remembers them. Distantly, Trajan wonders if they'd all died. He shakes his head and strides forwards, paws barely making a sound as he glides over the grass and follows the creek downstream. Purpose evades him still, but the Roman is content with wandering his birthplace until he finds it, or it finds him.

Katya meandered along the tributary's bank, carefully picking her path around sharp fragments of fishbone or rock. Her steel-gray pelt glowed silver in the afternoon sun as her bright blue eyes scanned her surroundings.

She still had yet to meet all of Morningside, but she had an exhaustive last few days and needed some time to herself. Taking a couple days' hike had seemed like a fine idea--one last adventure to give her new residence time to adjust to the newcomers and Khoe's pups. Even when she was alone, she saw, smelled, and heard the activity of other wolves everywhere in the valley. A week ago she could have ignored them, but now that she was attuned to Morningside scents and calls, she could also distinguish what wasn't distinctly her pack's.

She inhaled, tasting the air. Other than the cool fragrance of water and stone, she catches the fresh scent of lone wolf. Nothing to worry about, she reassures herself. They were just passing through, like she was mere days ago. Still, something about it bothered her, even though the scent was nowhere near Morningside. Trusting her intuition, she treads quickly but lightly, steeling herself for an encounter.

He senses her before he sees her, black leathery nostrils flaring as he catches her scent and hears, distantly, softly, pawsteps against the ground. Trajan weighs his options, then continues onwards, as if he hasn't heard anything at all. There is no point in stopping, he thinks to himself, if they want to find me, they'll find me eventually. He is not afraid of battle, being a seasoned warrior, or so he thinks. And this was the season of plenty - he would recover easily if injured.

The Roman catches sight of her, a wolf cloaked in gray, bearing eyes of the brightest blue. He tilts his head curiously, and wonders at her intention, or if she had any at all.

Trajan breathes in her scent, and realises she is from a pack, though, it appears, she hadn't been there for long. Is she afraid that he would trespass or something? There is no danger of that - he doesn't care enough to trespass.

As the wolf's scent became stronger, Katya spotted him a few dozen yards away--a smudge of charcoal nearly indistinguishable from the slate-colored rocks that lined the creek. She drew closer, and she realized just how massive he was in size, even from afar. Subconsciously lifting her chin and straightening her posture, she halted at a comfortable distance.

She emitted a low whuff to greet the stranger, her tail wagging slowly. "Hello." She fixed her gaze on him, afraid she might lose his form within their surroundings if she didn't focus on his two separately-hued eyes, which stood out from the rest of his body.

Trajan notices the way she straightens herself and lifts her chin. He finds it mildly amusing and curious, though he does not blame her, he admits that he can look intimidating — it is a particular advantage, but it did not aid him in making friends. He does not mind, he does not think he needs friends. A thought that is mostly likely wrong. She does not move any closer, and he does not take offense. 

"Hello," the Roman returns the greeting with ease, a gentle lilt to his voice. Trajan is not quite used to speaking the common tongue having spoken latin for the past year or so, but the words flow easily enough and a worry subsides in his chest. He offers the girl a smile, his bi-coloured eyes bright and curious. "Who might you be?"

Katya didn't return the smile, but her expression softened and she took a step forward. "Katya Balthazar," she answered, tilting her head slightly to the side. The unusual timbre of the male's voice intrigued her--she wondered if he too spoke a second tongue.

"From Morningside Cuesta." she added, flicking her tail in the direction of her pack's territory. She cocked a brow, waiting for the brute to introduce himself. He seemed polite enough; not a threat that she could see, but she planned on keeping their encounter brief. She wouldn't want Morningside to think she was consorting with lone wolves; they barely trusted her now.

It is a habit for the Roman to memorise everyone's names and faces, even if they were strangers — it will be useful in the future. So, he eyes her carefully, but politely, and repeats her name in his head until it sticks. Katya Balthazar. Katya Balthazar. Katya Balthazar. Katya. She gives him more than a name — she includes a pack, it appears, and Trajan wonders if his luck is just about to run out. The gods are favouring him, but he doesn't think they will for long, they rarely did.

"Traianus Frostfur diAngelo," the greyscale shadow introduces himself easily, the lilt still in his voice. He does not bear the same caution to names as his father had, he is not afraid of backlashes, or curses, or the past coming back to haunt him. Besides, he has changed his name numerous times before, and now even his surname had been changed. He doubted many would recognise him, only those from early childhood, perhaps. And anyways, Trajan wants danger, he embraces it — he needs it, needs a purpose, something, anything. "But most wolves call me Trajan," the Romans adds with a thoughtful gleam in his bright bi-coloured eyes. The lilt vanishes, replaced by a perfect common tongue accent. The common tongue of Teekon Wilds is his first tongue, after all. It is the first language he has ever learnt. It comes easily to him, though Latin comes almost as close.

"My name is too much of a mouthful. The one I told you is a shortened version," there is humour in his gaze, and he shifts his weight between his paws. His posture is indifferent, casual, insouciant. The shadow stays silent and observes the girl quietly, then he speaks, "you haven't been there long, have you?" Trajan cants his head in a decidedly birdlike manner. "Morningside Cuesta, I mean."

"Tragan. Trahan?" she tried, then furrowed her brows, knowing it wasn't right. There was no 'J' in the Cyrillic alphabet--the base of her mother language, and her ears warmed, embarrassed to be unable to master a simple consonant. She shook her head as if to clear it, and the chagrin disappeared from her expression.

"Traianus." She gave him a half-shrug, rolling her head to stretch her neck. "And no, I haven't," she answered, surprised at his accuracy, then becoming suspicious. Her eyes became icy slits. "Why?" she demanded.

The corner of Trajan's lip quirks upwards in a soft smile and he tilts his head in acknowledgement. "Trahan sounds better than Trajan, to be honest," he says, reassuring her gently. He does not care whether or not she pronounces his name correctly — he is not like his father in that manner. He only seeks to make sure she does not feel uncomfortable in his presence, and that is enough. It is, however, more for his purpose than hers — comfortable wolves tend to give him more information than uncomfortable ones.

Trajan reads expressions easily, and he sees the annoyance on her face flicker away as she speaks his full name. He suppresses a wince, countenance carefully indifferent, but inside, it bothers him just a bit. Perhaps, it is because no one ever really uses that name, not unless...he isn't quite sure, but that name has never felt like him. Which, he muses thoughtfully, is a bit hypocritical of him as his mindset revolves around the idea that he can take on any name and make it his.

Outside, the Roman remains carefully neutral. 

She demands a 'why' from him, suspicion radiating off her in waves. Trajan remains insouciant, his tongue slipping out to lick his lips. "No reason," he says easily, with a toss of his head and a shrug of his shoulders. "Just an observation. I have no fight with anyone." The latter is partly a lie — there is a chance that ghosts from his past might find him again, but he is not afraid. Trajan flashes her a crooked smile, hoping to ease the tension.

Katya sat back on her haunches, studying the wolf before her. She tucked her tail closely around her paws. He smiled, and she inexplicably smiled back.

"'Trajan' in my language is 'Trayan'. It's the same name, just the Russian spelling," she remembered, after a pause between them. She sensed his discomfort about his first name, but decided not to press the issue. However, she didn't like being kept in the dark.

"What are you here for, then?" she questioned.

"Russian?" Trajan perks up all of a sudden, his tail flicking lightly behind his back. "I know a bit of Russian, but I'm not that good," he lifts a shoulder in a shrug, the corner of his lip quirking lightly into the smallest of smiles. "Still, Trayan sounds nice," he states in a thoughtful tone, although his thoughts have long wandered elsewhere. Distantly, he remembers his father telling him about a Russian friend — well, more of a Russian slave, captive, brother, enemy kind of thing, and they did end up fighting each other, but Shadow had said that he quite liked the Russian's spirit.
"I was born here," Trajan says simply with a roll of his shoulders, amusement dancing briefly in his eyes. "This was the last place I saw my mother, my sister and my two brothers. Thought I'll pay it a little visit before I go." He hides the nostalgia and sadness behind a facade of easy smiles and insouciant gestures, but there is pain biting in his heart and tearing at his soul. What he would give to see them again...