Ankyra Sound to untie this knot

The druidic woman had only to move deeper through the woodwork to sniff out that it was not a territory for the taking. It was not something she wished ever to take; could one claim domain over wood where the Old Ones rest? Her question was answered, of course. The scent of it was telling enough. Her resolve was shaken. But the wood called to her, and she responded to its summon. 

On the edge of the forest did she wait. She could not, she believed, continue on her intended path without these monoliths. The Old Ones had spoken to her. And so the youth shuddered, and threw her head back to call for the keeper of this place.

Sod's law said that Vlad's first recruit in weeks would only show up once he had stopped looking. Lo and behold, here she was. The salt-stained male rushed to the territory's forested border to greet whoever this was that had come a-knockin', already smiling his broad, ugly smile.

"Small gerl!" he boomed upon spotting her, crashing to a halt in front of the small, dainty little creature. "I cen reading brain of you - you hev come for make join peck. You velcome!" Well, that was easy. "Come come come," Vlad urged, indicating that she should follow him onto the beach. "You telling name and aather gud fect, but first make cetch fud," he went on, rushing through the meet-and-greet process at break-neck speed. Lunch was calling, and it would be of much higher quality if two wolves were involved in catching it instead of just one.

@Caoimhe! :D

Caoimhe was mystified; she was even able to overlook his hideousness in favor of his power, that surely the forest had given him. His invitation was swift, and just like that, she was accepted into the fold. Caoimhe did not question it, she would not put her life here in jeopardy. This was meant, and that was known. Surely the Ancient Ones had told him; this must be how he knew. 

"I am Caoimhe," she introduced in her Irish lilt, accent thick. The rest of her words would be near indecipherable, given that. "The trees have called me." And it was then she translated his own words, wincing at her error. He had stated food, first, and she had done the opposite! But she kept her lips sealed together, hoping perhaps that this had gone over his head. Food, he had said. Food would be nice... and so, she followed his lead quietly, keeping her head low and her eyes averted.

Well, balls. The wilds had brought him a lunatic.

Vlad stared blankly at the new recruit, fishing around for some way to respond to her claim that the trees had summoned her. Perhaps she meant.. that.. uh. Actually, she probably believed herself to have been summoned by some woodland spirit. Crazier wolves existed out there - Vlad knew that all too well. "Huh. OK. Vat sound tree making? Ees song or ees werd?" he asked conversationally, padding onto the sand with Caoimhe after him. He made no effort to repeat her name; it was weird and foreign-sounding, and she - like everyone else in the pack - would soon have her very own Vladdy nickname. Crazyface, perhaps, or just Trees.

Caoimhe moved after him, none-the-wiser to his lack of belief in her words as he respectfully queried. The question did bring her a measure of her own interest in him, as she had supposed that he, too, could hear Them from the sacred grove. "I am not sure how t'explain it," Caoimhe responded softly, "It's all of the sounds the earth can possibly make in one moment. Neither song nor word, but somehow translatable to something, to the meaning. It is mysterious." She had only just heard Them for the first time. Caoimhe looked to him, her shining eyes watching his expression. "You haven't heard it...?"

Vlad listened quietly, trying to make sense of what was being said to him. Abstract thinking had never been one of his talents - he was a basic wolf with basic thoughts. Still - whatever afflication of the mind ailed Caoimhe didn't seem to affect her ability to function as a wolf, and Vlad was not one to judge. He had happily thrown his lot in with the Rat and would extend that same privilege to the much cleaner, much prettier Caoimhe.

He decided to humour her. "I theenk ees sound for special wulf ear," he responded diplomatically, pushing ahead and looking over his shoulder to waggle his brows at the dainty girl in his wake. "I make you now new name! Ees Beauty Meestery. OK? Name hev many gud feature!" She had no say in the matter; even something as simple as Kee-va was too much of an arse to remember.

The short walk had brought them out into the core of Saltwinter's territory - a cold slice of beach, overlooked by tall cliffs and the thick forest from whence she had come. Vlad whipped around, puffed out his chest, and annouonced with great enthusiasm:  "Beauty Meestery - velcomimng be to Salty Winter peck! Heving here strong wulf, and meny gud creb and vater doge for to eating! I naming Vlad." Who could say no to that?

Caoimhe had to agree with his words. Her mother and her sister were very special indeed. Did she see herself among them? Before two days ago, certainly not. But things had changed. The wood spoke and she had felt—or heard—it. Her expression morphed to surprise as he renamed her. It was a kind name, and she deduced he called her such a thing because her own name, heavily accented itself, might be difficult to say with his own accent thrown into the recipe of it. She silently accepted the title he gave her, a soft smile pulling at her lips as she realized, a beat later, that he had called her beauty. 

As he brought her to the sand, Caoimhe walked with him. But having never touched the salt of the earth, her movements were unpracticed and she grimaced as she felt the beads of sand funnel between her toes. It was different than dirt, but... not painful. Strange, though. Her head turned and looked at the high cliffs that surrounded them, but she could not help but look over her shoulder toward the forest. 

When he introduced herself, he found her attention again. Vlad, came her Irish accent. I am happy to know you. This Salty Winter is lovely. Do... do you lead? She would hold a respect for him no matter what; it seemed that he did, to allow her entrance and access to the place so swiftly. I do not know of... water doge... or creb... but I am willing to learn, Caoimhe freely admitted this; she was more practiced in taking down rabbits, or deer, or anything else that dwelt in the forest.

Every word out of her mouth was get-me-to-the-dentist sweet. Vlad had never been within ten paces of such an angel. Rosalyn and Caiaphas had their moments (plenty, in fact), but there was a hard, crusty edge to both girls that Caoimhe had not yet developed. She was still fragile, and though she had been in his life for less time than it took to take a dump, Vlad already felt protective over her.

Do you lead? Vlad roared with laughter, throwing his head back and forcing it up from the pit of his stomach. "Beauty Meestery meck so gud yoke! Vlad breeng wulf to Salty Winter peck - beeg boss are Bleckface. I taking you meet," he promised, squinting out over the beach. The sand was firmer here, packed down by the weight of the ocean and much easier to traverse. "I first teaching cetch creb - naamber one skeel. Aha - thees creb. You seeing?" He indicated at a cluster of slow-moving shells to their right.

His laughter would have brought color to her cheeks, were wolves capable of blushing, but instead it only brought an unbearable heat as she suffered the embarrassment at her error. Caoimhe could not understand for the life of her what he was saying, and only caught one word from all of his first tirade: 'Bleckface'. And meat. Or, did he mean meet? But they had been talking about food... 

Ah, but as for the rest, she understood well enough. He was going to teach her something. To catch a creb. Caoimhe hadn't any idea what that might be, but he indicated it to her straightaways. The young druid looked to the thing that moved strangely, and then back to him. It's very small, Caoimhe said without any judgment or malice, only wonderment. These sustain you? Her Irish lilt was heavy and thick in itself, but able to be understood as she spoke slowly in her confusion.

Vlad roar-laughed again - he seemed incapable of any other volume - and shook his head. "Sneck," he explained, following the crabs onto the damp sand with his head held low. "Sneck furst, efter ees vater-doge!" There were no seals to be had at the time- the opportunity to catch them came and went with the tides. Vlad caught crabs and scavenged the rock pools for unlucky fish when the water withdrew, padding the occasional hunt with anything he could scratch from the rocks or pluck from the water. Within moments, he had seized a crab by the rear and held it up for Caoimhe to see. "Sheeing yew?" he hollered through a mouthful of squirming crustacean, and promptly crushed his prize.

She tilted her head, her ears pushing forward as though this would help her interpret him. Did he say snake? She certainly knew what that was... but, as his body lowered and brushed against the earth, she caught the visual cue and changed the meaning. Sneak, he had meant, and Caoimhe mimicked his movements. It was harder to sneak on the sand than it was solid earth. She felt like she was drudging through the stuff, and new muscles were at play that she had not been aware of before this. 

Her companion then caught a grab, which she witnessed, and nodded her head excitedly at his query. He made it look quite simple, actually, and the things scuttled slower than any other thing she had hunted... easy, she thought, and went after one herself. Misfortune reigned, when she was soon at the mercy of a crebs pincers. It hung from a lip, and she looked pathetically at Vlad. Even past the hurt, she did not want to appear useless, but tears pricked at her eyes due to the new pain. Caught it, she displayed it swinging from her lip, knowing full well that it had caught her.

Vlad had in fact meant to say snack, but the effect was the same - Caoimhe copied his moves and fought her first creb as well as could be expected. She ended up with a crab-shaped facial piercing that squeezed her lips with all of its shellfish-y might. Vlad laughed his special laugh, sputtering shards of shell and crab meat into the sand. "SO GUD!" he praised, "Now musting you smesh bedd creb!" He nodded his head at the nearest available rock.

Caoimhe would not, and never would, know he meant snack this day. She was rewarded for her pain with a zealous laugh and Caoimhe tried to grin and bear her situation. The smile pasted on her face was thin and meek and her eyes still watered from the sting, but her pleasant disposition did not change. At his next command, however, Caoimhe blanched, uncertain. With it... on my face...? Did she do that? Wouldn't that hurt? Caoimhe prayed silently, wanting the end of the thing to be swift and painless, even despite the fact that it caused her discomfort. It could just become a trendy nose-ring that others might admire, she could ignore it! But the earthbound druid knew she was too sensitive, and that the pain on her snout wasn't something she wanted to live with.

Caoimhe wasn't sure. "Vant you new name?" Vlad teased, brows dancing majestically out of sync on his forehead. "Creb Leep?" It was catchier than Meestery Beauty, and more in keeping with the names he had given the others - Stenderds, Limpy Menn, Bleckface. He did not yet know what to call the boiled sea urchin of a wolf that Caiaphas had dragged in, but it would come to him. "Cen also poot on send!" Vlad suggested, thinking that perhaps the crap would spot an opportunity and make a break for it. Vlad stretched out his neck and spoke directly to the creature in the slow, condescendingly loud voice one might use to address a native of a country one is visiting: "GEEV YOU CHENCE TO LEEVING MUCH YEARS EEF LETTING GO."

Caoimhe gently frowned at his words, and then shook her head. The creb had an iron grip on her jowls, and she did not even consider shaking it off. Please, she whispered fearfully, and on that note it released... or perhaps it was the hollering of Vlad. Caoimhe moved to step on it, but its pincers gave her pause for a moment. She was a soft woman, but she killed like any other wolf, and thanked the Gods for the bounty of it. Caoimhe was not cruel, however. She tried to kill quickly, so that no pain was felt. 

So this time when she stepped forward, she did so with the purpose to stomp. And stomp upon it she did, but the sands seemed to part with the weight of her paw, and when she lifted it they flooded over the armored beast to surround it. She could not tell if it was moving beneath the sand, and let out an exasperated sound as she sought to sweep the earth from it. Faigh ar ais anseo, she begged, lapsing into her natal tongue. Ah, there, a pincer! She studied it for a moment to see if it might move, eyes moving to lock on Vlad.

Definitely not a natural. Vlad giggled pretty much continuously as Caoimhe's battle with her crab dinner went on - and oh, what a sound! Like a sow giving birth to a blackboard. "No meck BOOP on creb!" the Russian sighed, rolling his eyes in faux exasperation. He caught a second as it attempted to sprint past him, crushing it between his teeth before its legs had left the sand. "Keel! Is OK for meck keel - creb ees creb, ees so crepp life, creb heppy you keel."