Boartusk Heights for the findings,

The biting air of Boartusk Heights carried with it the faint scent of pine and distant prey. Qvasir's steps were deliberate, his paws crunching against the frostbitten terrain as he weaved through the rugged landscape. The sharp, jutting rocks and frost-covered undergrowth gave the heights a sense of foreboding, yet he moved with purpose, his amber eyes scanning the horizon.

The fox-colored woman had lingered in his thoughts. @Paloma. Her presence was fleeting, like a wisp of smoke, yet it carried weight, enough to pull him from his usual wandering and into the craggy expanse of these lands. The search wasn’t born purely from curiosity—there was something in her demeanor that intrigued him, something he had yet to place.

The wind tugged at his coat, carrying whispers of a female scent scent, faint but present. He stopped briefly, lifting his head to taste the air. Yes, she was near.

There were two new men to join their ranks. Both colored of black, brown and grey, as it were. Maybe they were of relation. The first had joined them at the great hunt and traveled back with them. Paloma would take it upon herself now to meet the second properly, the largest (very fucking large at that) of the two. 

The little woman danced with an ease among the dark spires of La Muerte. The winding paths and small spaces much more of an easy for someone both so light and so light footed. Yet the large wolf could be heard, his footing crunching over the icy covered peaks under the weight of him. He sought out her and she sought him. 

Oh, my, my....! Her voice struck, having found him just below, as she leaned over a ledge where she perched, like a mountain lion down upon new, fresh prey. Qué chico tan grande eres. She purs, pale lavender eyes taking quite some time to look over the great size of him fully.

Qvasir heard the voice before he saw the figure, perched high above like a spirit come to life. Her words struck like playful arrows, laced with amusement. His ears flicked forward, sharp and curious, as his golden eyes followed her voice to its source.

Ah, he hummed, a low and even sound, his head tilting slightly as he regarded her. Fox-like and petite, her sharp features matched her tone, and he found himself intrigued by her confidence. She was bold, like the fire-tongued women he had known in his youth.

Paloma, supongo, he began, his voice a measured rumble, warm yet deliberate. Qvasir. His gaze lingered on her as he introduced himself, the faintest trace of a smile curling his lips. Tienes razón, soy grande... pero veo que tú eres rápida.

He stood firm below her perch, waiting for her to make the next move, his presence as steady and unmoving as the rocks beneath their paws. The air around him carried no tension, only a quiet curiosity to see what the fox-like woman might say next.

She gave it and he took it, her sharp, direct tone being matched by his own low rumble lined with confidence... and he spoke their language, too! It was pleasant, to hear their native tongue on a handsome man once more. It had not been this way since Basìlio, who was also a behemoth of a man who had captured away the attention of their Matriarca. Had he stayed, perhaps they would have held a new and far more capable Patriarca now...but, oh well...

You assume correct. The little fox smiles, fed by the slightest of smirks of his own as he introduces himself. 

I am. She agrees, toeing with the edge of the rise. She wasn't all that far up from him, not at all. Which was probably best given her next move. Y yo pensaría que tú también eres fuerte? She lifts up just the slightest, leaning back as she does so. Catch me then! And she leaps from her perch, to either A. Crash right onto his back. B. He would lift and meet her, so that she might fall into his chest and in his arms quite cutely or C. He would move and she would smack right into the rock ground at his feet.