The Sentinels barren summits

for @Grimora

the morning is overcast when kjalarr makes his way from his patrol around the bay's scent markers into the sentinels. he keeps a keen eye on the deer herds that call it home. though sea lion shores heralds plenty of meat, the northman considers the sentinels more of their unofficial hunting grounds than he does the shore. kjalarr settles in the brush — some of which still bear the scars of the fire that had marred it years ago — sure that he was within sight of the herd as he could see them.

either way, they do not seem perturbed by his presence — and as he does not seek to hunt them today, he does not worry about spooking them.

the tasseled bard ambled around the great blackened trees of the forest he had in his mind dubbed the црношума. his head was raised to their vast burnt canopies and a song trickled upwards from his lips.

"samvhere ouer the rainbou,

the skies are bleu,

aend the dreams that'chu dare to dream,

re'lly do cam thchrue-ooo-ooo~"

the man's voice rose.

as did the heads of the deer grazing nearby.

can be a cameo if you don't wanna add the stinky corded man into your thread :)

i don't mind at all! i was waiting for grimora to reply but looks like she went inactive.

if kjalarr assumed the herd would continue to graze unperturbed and he would eventually grow tired of watching them and return to the bay a few hours later, he assumed wrong. a song — at least, this is what kjalarr assumes it is — rises over the still mostly burnt canopy, some of which budding with persistent life.

it draws his ears to attention atop his skull, his relaxed posture tensing as fierce, cerulean eye scans the nearby terrain for the culprit.

the herd has already heard the singing and have taken flight by a call of their 'leader' ( or so this is what kjalarr amounts the largest buck to be ). they dart away and kjalarr does not chase. instead, an exasperated sigh leaves his lips as he follows the singing.

it does not take him long to find the beast responsible for it and he hesitates; visibly, unsure of what exactly he was looking at. it smelled like a canine — but not wolf — but looked like something from the undergrowth had come to life.

a bark was given to garner the strange dog beast's attention. you scared off the deer herd. kjalarr states matter-of-factly; not his best greeting, especially considering the fact that he wasn't mad about it in any shape or form.

he'd lost the lyrics and instead given to melodiously mumbling the tune, head and tail swaying opposite each other in some strange rhythm comprehensible only to the singer.

he was oblivious to the effect his singing had on the wildlife, or the approach of a sizeable stranger.

it started him, the bark, and his head swiveled around, ears flapping, to face the speaker.

wolf, of course, of grander size, and lovely build, dressed in sandy stockings.

slavuj's full attention was immediately upon him.

"vhy, ai vaes unaeware yeau vere hunting." the bard grinned, tail wagging. "did mai songfulness scaere avay yeaur meal?" he gave an apologetic dip of the head. "if sou, ai vill tchreat choo to fish dinner."

it takes kjalarr a while to decipher the stranger's words, thick and heavy with his accent. i wasn't hunting, kjalarr corrects softly. i keep a close eye on the herd that calls this place home, kjalarr explains. my clan lives in the bay neighboring it. he makes a small motioning gesture with his muzzle in stavanger bay's direction.

i am fine, thank you. kjalarr replies, having trouble deciphering the very last sentance: catching only the word 'fish'.

"ah, vhat ae lie-we-lee neighborhood!" the dog grinned, boyish. "ay haev haerd howls fram the islands aend the cliffs. is the shoreline ae popular place fer yeour kind?" one could accuse local wolves of being descended from merfolk, what with their siren songs and great beauty.

the bard's tail still wagged. the stranger was handsome, with unique markings and mature airs. the scars and one milky eye enhanced his appeal. slavuj wished to know more about him.

"yeaou say clan, not pack. hauw is it chifferent fram aell the others?"

kjalarr is not surprised to hear that wolves have claimed the islands and the cliffs as their homes — though it is news, nevertheless. he keeps to his section of the coast, comforted by the lack of neighbors competing for resources. i suppose it must be, the northman replies with a soft, contemplative hum. i was born in stavanger bay, kjalarr offers as if it explained his attraction to the coast. perhaps, in many ways, within it's simplicity: it did.

it's not, really. we are still a pack. i just choose to call it clan, kjalarr explains with a lofty shrug of broad shoulders. i cannot speak for any of the others packs as i am not familiar with them.

"hmm, inchresting." slavuj stretched, sliding himself to lay on his belly (gathering quite a bit of debris with his coat) and crossed his frontlegs at the wrists.

"sey, are th' kuh-nines of this aria descended from..." he set his head at an inquisitive angle and raised a brow, loose wool of his forehead parting to show the humorous spark in his brown eye. "merpeople? ai aesk, because yeaur kind haev all th' traits of th' mythical bee-ngs."

his head swayed from one side to the other as he listed; "wonjerful vuoices, sea aend seaglass eyes, seafoam coats, baeauty unmatched, swimmer's builds aend chaerms irresistible."

slavuj creased his swaying and gave the wolf another bright smile.

slavuj rn

he's so cute!

despite the ease in which is companion reclines, clearly at ease; kjalarr remains standing: though his posture is neutral. he does not feel threatened and despite the soft ache in his arthritic leg, he keeps pressure on it, fearing that if he doesn't the pain will only increase. the mention of merpeople — mermaids? kjalarr thinks — draws his ears forth and with that motion: a soft chuckle.

the northman is not immune to flattery, for better or worse.

perhaps, kjalarr allows with a soft, michevious glint to his singular cerulean gaze. i wouldn't rule it out. nevertheless, he knows he comes from a long line of wolves carved from the basalt and ice and salt from the north.

the man was of a few words, slavo saw then - but also knew a single sound could hold much value. he decided that for the afternoon, his interest'ill be in procuring a chuckle or bashful wag of the tail from the aged wolf.

the komondor set his head onto his paws, eyes still on the senior. 

"hm, aend vould yeu speak moer of this clan of yeours, mischr m'rman?" his tail beat evenly against the ground. "didju rise fram th' palace of sam sea-king deep be-low? come to th' sh'res chu grace th' land-dwellers witch yeour siren songs?"

his eyes glimmered with good humour.

a soft noise of amusement leaves kjalarr. my clan, the northman begins. is a resurrection of the home i was born to, but perhaps not in it's entirety. he, unlike his father, does not adhere to the idea of making all of his followers bend to the will of the gods. if they chose to: then he would teach them. but if they chose against: that was their freedom. it's culture, at it's core revolves around the foundations of community and looking out for and protecting our own.

a soft, mischievous smile is given.

and if vagrant wanderers fall for our sirens' song ...then so be it.

had his ears not been weighted down by corded hair, they might've risen at the little expulsion of air. what a sound! like a spark of warmth in midst of winter. the komondor now looked deeply pleased.

unacquainted with the functions of a pack, this simple community the older man proposed seemed unique in the idyllic and honest life it offered. it was so admirable, искрено.

and so not for him, искрено.

he himself gave a chuckle in response to the other's implied suggestion. 

"oh nou nou, mai good maen." slavo stretched, curling his toes into the dirt, popping his back. "ai aem ae vaegrant by haert. ai vould raether waender th' shoreline thaen... thaen be ae fixture."

the bard rose languidly to his paws, and while he remained amicable, he was ready for this encounter to end with his banishment. 

as such thing usually went.

though his father had been, perhaps, a bit more strict about who was allowed in stavanger bay: an older kjalarr did not share those beliefs. it was a lot of things he could claim he did not see eye to eye on with his old man. odinn didn't turn away any: so long as they were worthy to enter the halls of valhalla. kjalarr holds true to this particular sentiment himself; though perhaps in it's selflessness this betrayed his arrogance. he shared a name with the allfather as well.

kjalarr was one of odinn's numerous monikers.

well, the northman drawls in a breath, words unspoken dancing across his tongue. if you change your mind: you're welcome in the bay.

the bard turned to leave, and took long steps in the direction which would take him away from the bay - all the while his drop ears hid how intently he listened for the moment he'd be struck or chased.

the offer surprised him, and that much was evident when the dog turned his head and looked at the wolf. 

a warm smile spread over his features.

"ai thank yeou, mischr mr'man." his heavy tail swayed.

he would spend a long moment committing the man to memory, storing his voice and image where he kept the best of his songs.

and then he left, still unbound by pack or family. just how he liked it.