Stavanger Bay nobody makes me bleed my own blood

She was skulking again. This had been her crutch since childhood — the act of observing and judging the goings-on of the world without fully participating. She had kicked the habit for a time among the wolves of Undersea, but in leaving behind Coelacanth and her family, she seemed also to have left behind her manners.

So. Skulking. Around the edges of the promised land, to be precise, where Moorhen had seen so many packs rise and fall she felt she must surely have attained old age and wisdom — but when she counted back the seasons, she was still only four.

The bay seemed empty, for now. Moorhen stood atop a small rise and looked down on the cursed waters, the bloodstained sand, the unknowable darkness of the forest. It all looked very ordinary, from here. Like something that belonged here in the real world, instead of in her anxious dreams. She knew again that she had been making mountains out of molehills — her memories of this place were the memories of a battered child, and she lived now in the body of a grown and battled-hardened warrior;

she had nothing to fear from this place.

Without anything to lose from it, Moorhen tipped back her sleek, dark head to howl, her voice — hoarse from disuse — asking if, perchance, there was anyone around and, more importantly, if they were amenable to company.

Umbra was rather irked, as she could not find @Sunhawk. Her best chance was remaining near the Senintels and hoping for him to return- which was odd for itself. The kraken would never hope for someone to return, as she preferred the peace of herself. Yet, because he had been with her through the injuries, he was a companion to be indebted to, and as well as to protect.

Yet he was missing. 

She could only lurk back like a storm, a clear agitation to her so. Especially upon meeting an irritating fellow, Umbra had little to no patience at the moment. Upon returning to the territory Ironclan claim, surprisingly she had heard a low howl of summons. She of course, followed through upon curiosity.

Her head was raised, perhaps a scornful look from previous rage, and prideful to the boot, "This is claimed land of Ironclan," so the kraken exclaimed, "what do you need?"

It was not long before another appeared. Moorhen was not surprised; these shores were always crowded in her memories, even if the packs themselves came and went like the tide. This one was no less surly than the usual lot of seawolves, and although it did not now (nor had it ever) fail to get her back up, she felt a sudden surge of wistfulness for the cold little creature she had been, once upon a time.

Still, outwardly, she was an erne ruffling her feathers, faintly offended by the stranger's mien and looking to prove that she, too, had a sizeable chip on her shoulder. But she was not so young and brash anymore as to start a fight just for her pride; she was peaceable enough as she replied,

I come to see who lives here,

Her common tongue had always sounded especially common. It irked her even now, but she was long past taking pains over masking her accent and prettying up her words.

I was born here, she added, in case Umbra was wondering why. But this was near inconsequential to her, now. She moved on to the topic Umbra had brought up. Many packs have risen here. All are now fallen. Her nose twitched in quiet derision; she wondered how long Ironclan would last, and how like the other Stavanger packs it might be.

You are the leader? she asked, her body language becoming a fraction less defensive as she tried to open herself to a possible friendship with the kraken.

She was calmed a bit seeing that the woman didn't defy or try to raise hell. Instead calmly explained how origins of this place, which gave Umbra a brow to raise. The place had history, as beautiful as it is, just as cursed. Maybe knowing that information, she would've taken back her pledge to Ironclan- nontheless, it was too late.

Sworn into it, the kraken would't take back her word, especially with the rank she was given.

"High enough to be near leader." Umbra was rather reluctant to admit she was not the leader, but close enough. Close enough she assumed as well it would be acceptable to judge who can enter, and who can leave. Perhaps her rank was closest to being a 'Beta,' as most were familiar with, but she strived to be the 'Alpha,' and made that clear to @Wintersbane.

Of course, she also wouldn't simply overthrow him. He was safe from that- for now.

"I am Umbra." She did not want to use the title of Saltlady.

No offense was taken at this rather ominous portent; Moorhen allowed herself to relax a fraction further, and gave a tentative — albeit reserved — wag of her tail when the wolf offered her name.

I am Moor, the erne replied in kind, her burgundy gaze sweeping once more over the seawolf's rangy figure. She seemed to be in good condition — not too thin or battered. Today I walk by my alone. But, in seasons past, I am guard to leader, and their börn. Babs. Um. Puppies.

She peered intently at Umbra to see if she was following this, not because she didn't trust the other wolf's insightfulness or attention span, but because she was always uncertain about her word choice and syntax.

I will come to stay at Ironclan, she said, and although her words were rather decisive, her tone made it clear that this was an offer she was making, and not a demand.

"Very well, Moor." Though perhaps rude, Umbra knew that Ironclan needed more to their ranks. Overtime should she prove herself, and if not, the kraken was ready to throw her out. Especially since she mentioned while being alone, was a guard to the leaders and their born. Useful, for the upcoming season.

She knew well enough, that a major reason to start a pack was for that privilege. She too, would wish to born mighty fine warriors to her name.

"Our leader, the Saltking, is Wintersbane. He is a large man, found somewhere on this beach." While accepting her so, she gave the name of the formal leader. It was simply assumed that she had the power to accept others- especially counting herself being second to him.

Although Umbra didn't seem very impressed with her, Moorhen was accepted into their ranks. This was fine with her; she was not sure she was very impressed with the younger wolf, but first impressions were sometimes like that. She would withhold judgement, she decided, just in case she and Umbra were the only women around. She didn't want to make an enemy in her own home, after all.

Thank you, said Moorhen with another wag of her tail, and this time, she spoke a little more warmly than before. How many others are with you? What are they like?

And she wasn't, really. However she didn't have an opinion one way or another, just a simple distrust to any newcomers. Gaining Umbra's loyalty and respect as a hard achievement, only Sunhawk had gained so, and vaguely Wintersbane. Though in the future, he successfully grasps her pledge and loyalty to Ironclan.

So Moor, was under her constant watch- a proving if she was that of the Ironwill the man proclaimed to need for their claim of the sea, "None," and so the seafang answered truthfully, none that she currently knew. It really was only the three at the current time, but even then, the numbers were satisfied as they were only an early creation, "we are new. Which is why, marking the borders is even more important."

Umbra expected Moor to work.

Moorhen was a little surprised to hear she was only the third addition to the little band of seafarers — these packs usually seemed to spring up out of the aether. It must surely be fate to have found herself here in the pack's infancy.

"Ja," she agreed, not recognizing Umbra's words quite as a command. It certainly seemed like a good idea, and she would be sure to mark the borders, of course, because she was a responsible wolf — but she was not accustomed to taking orders from anyone, and so it would take her some time to recognize them when it happened.

Moorhen gave her dark pelt a brisque shake, signaling to the other woman that she was readying herself for departure. She did not have anywhere in particular to be, but standing here and making conversation was no great comfort to the erne. "Shall we?" the woman invited, her tail bouncing jovially above her hocks as she began to pick her way down the rise and toward the bay itself. She thought nothing of this action; Coelacanth had walked alongside her, and the rest, usually just behind.

She was a woman of pride. She especially didn't enjoy the thought of anyone being above her so, and had no desire to join any nearby packs, until recently. By rare chance did she gain a title of worthiness, and while she might not be the highest ranking, she was still above everyone else except for one. Umbra took such actions not lightly, and narrowed at the women before her.

She stepped further, not next to Moorhen, but moved to be further ahead in a display of dominance. To lead, was to be a powerful force. She knew to watch this woman, but for now, bring her to the border marks.