Ankyra Sound You and I

@Caiaphas and/or @Kjalarr?

Ishild was restless. She needed to find a pack, however temporary it was. The ashen figure shook her frame and continued to plod on. She stopped a few feet away from the border, not daring to go further. She didn't want a fight, she wanted stable food and a place to stay for the time being. 

She wanted to find Marbas and Szymon. She wanted to see Skellige again, but all that had to wait, for she must do this first. She stood there, contemplating whether she should howl, or just wait. Deciding on the second option, the masked girl took an idle seat just outside the territory. Surely someone would be by soon. The scent markings were strong and well kept, a sign of a strong pack.

The ocean breeze whisked through her long locks, blowing them in her eyes and obscuring the dark mask that held the two chartreuse orbs. They scanned the borderline, searching for any movement at all. Despite her domplomatic and intellectual character, she was a very impatient person. With a huff, she continued to wait, ears twitching to every sound. Her eyes kept glancing towards the ocean. It seemed to call to her, always. It was her home, and she would never venture far from it. That was one of the reasons for choosing this pack to at least try out.

Kjalarr knew that he should be making haste towards Neverwinter to inform them of Whittier's death — Tori messed up his timeline oops — but he was still struggling to wrap his mind around it, to accept it despite that there was little left of the fact to accept. Whittier had gone to the the Æsir and he was not coming back. Though his adopted brother did not share in his faith Kjalarr had to believe that he had went somewhere, that life after death was not a void for those who did not believe in the Nordic faith as he did. Admittedly, Kjalarr could not claim to be the zealot that his father had been but at times Kjalarr felt the Gods and sometimes even caught glimpses of Hugin and Munin as they made their rounds through the seven realms, collecting information and taking it back to Allfather. Even so, he busied himself with patrols and hunts, trying to work up the courage that he knew it would take to be the bearer of that news. In truth, it was best that it was he to do it.

A scent tickled his leathery nostrils and Kjalarr paused, drinking in the scent deeply, judging that it's owner was near. He followed it with raised hackles and tail held high over his back in a show of dominance, scarred muzzle wrinkling in warning as his lips lifted to expose his teeth at the female that just sat there, staring in. She had not called, and appeared to give an impatient fidget or two, even as he approached the scene. “Why do you sit idle at our borders?” The viking demanded, suspicious of why she hadn't simply howled for a leader.

What felt like hours to the impatient girl, was probably only a matter of minutes. Soon, a large wolf appeared, tail high in dominance. He strode towards her and stared her down. "I didn't feel like howling," She told him, deadpan. "So I waited here." Was there something wrong with that? There shouldn't be.

As he grew closer, Ishild slowly began to show more signs of submission. Her ears swiveled back respectfully, and her head began to dip. She wasn't looking for a fight, nor was she looking to be turned away. She needed a pack, however much she denied so. She could feel her waist and muscle vanishing into what seemed to be thin air. With the lack of prey, she hadn't eaten in well over three days.

Ishild glanced up at him quickly to gauge his reaction. His was a large wolf: tall, well built and proud. His bore a scar across his muzzle which made his fierce features seem even fiercer. Her lashing tail stilled and she glance at her paws, another ocean breeze playing through her fur.

After a long moment of silence, Ishild felt she needed to say more. "I wish to add one mre set of teeth to your pack," she said, her voice never wavering. She wasn't exactly the type to be afraid of others. She was warmer than her siblings, yes, but in her very own way, she was also braver. Stronger, even though she wasn't as physically strong as most of them. Some way, she was able to do that, although Ishild still had no idea how.

Her words, impassive though they were, left Kjalarr with a jeer upon his scarred features. She didn't feel like howling she had said, and though it had probably not been insinuated as such Kjalarr couldn't help but think that she did not think they worth howling to summon, as if he had nothing better to do then to attend to her when she couldn't even muster it within her to let him and Caiaphas know that she waited, that she wished to speak to them. “You disregard the importance of howling as if I owe something to you,” Kjalarr couldn't help the words as they rolled from his tongue. “Perhaps your desire to join our ranks is not great, as you could not be bothered to rise a call for me or our Queen.” His head cocked to the side in a bird-like manner studying her coolly, in a manner that was eerily reminiscent of his deceased father. Still very much in pain from Whittier's death Kjalarr did not have the extra patience to extend. He was in no gaming mood.

“And why should I be bothered to give you the benefit of the doubt? If you truly seek to join us then I need more than your willingness to offer your teeth to us. We have young ones to care for and recently lost one of our adults to the sea, so what skills can you offer us?” Will you put more effort into them than you did summoning us? though he did not ask this question aloud and to keep it from slipping betwixt his lips, lightly bit his tongue. He was not sure if Caiaphas would be upset if he drove off a potential recruit with biting remarks — and thus deigned to keep them to himself from here on out. 

In truth, she had been lucky Kjalarr had been close by, else she might have been waiting there for hours until someone else happened upon her. Waiting seemed like much more effort to Kjalarr than a short and efficent howl would have been.

Ishild flinched as she was given harsh words and a very angery male. She readily admitted that it was her fault for not howling, however stupid it may seem to her. She swallowed and stole another peek up at him. "I-I'm sorry that this may have upset or offended you in any way," She said quietly, willing him to at least listen. "That was not my intention.."

Her chartreuse are flickered back to her paws as she thought of what else to say. Honest to god, she couldn't think of anything else. She swallowed again and lowered herself even further to the ground in full respect. She had no idea that he would take offense to any of this.

The masked woman listened as he raved before her, his face showing a series of emotions. He was angery and sorrowful at the same time, and Ishild was beginning to understand his sensitivity. He spoke of loosing a friend to the devilish hands of the ocean, and babes to care for. He challenged her to tell him her skills to give her the benefit of the doubt. She thought back to when she had trained in the Warsaw Islands. All the hard work and battle skills she'd been taught. She thought of the other pack she'd spent some time in after she ran away from home. How they taught her about herbs and hunting and caring for pregnant females and youth. Yes, she had the skills that they needed, the only question now was, would they need her?

"I can care for youth just fine, and I am trained well in battle. I also have knowledge of herbs, but I cannot boast about my hunting skills," She told him, remaining completely truthful. The only thing the ashen creature could do now was hope for the best, but there was no guaranteeing anything. At least she had Skellige.

She apologized for not howling, though in truth it was her flinch that made him believe her words to be genuine. Yet, Kjalarr offered no apology of his own — and not because he was trying to be an asshat. He stood by his words. It may not have been her intention but her reply to his question had made it sound as if they were not worth the effort to howl. A lone wolf sitting close to their borders only served to raise his suspicions of ill intention. Howling was a courtesy but it also alerted a pack's wolves to the howler's presence. Staying quiet gave off the impression that she was trying to be sneaky, like she didn't want to be found and Kjalarr was protective and territorial by nature as it was. This behavior only served to spike it.

She lowered herself to the ground before him: an offering of humility and respect. The Viking accepted it with a rise of his chin and a low snort that pushed from his leathery, black nostrils. Yet he held steadfast to his silence as he contemplated what she had to offer them. She spoke that she could care for the young. “We have no formal sitters among our ranks,” He drew as he broke his silence. “Not a bad skill to boost of, I think, though I suspect you will have to gain the trust of our Queen, Caiaphas and their mother, Lusca before they let you near the children.”

“A healer also is needed, though skills and prowess in battle are always sought after.” After all, what was a pack without wolves that could defend and protect it? “Why Saltwinter?” He asked next, after he pondered over the skills she spoke that she could offer them. It was a question more of his own curiosity than anything else but he supposed it was still important, in a way. No doubt there were plenty of packs in the Wilds to choose from.

The large white male seemed to except her submission, and that made the ashen girl feel better, but also irritated. She hid her emotions well however, and no irritation could be seen through her mask. She gave him a small smile as he continued to speak.

He told her that they had no formal babysitter, and although that was not Ishild's favorite job, she would do it if she had to. He aslo mentioned that they were indeed in need of a healer, and that made her perk up. She loved to work with herbs and to experiment with different herbs to find new cures. He also told her that battle skills were always sought after, but Ishild could care less. She'd been training and fighting all her life. Sure, she could be considered a phenominal warrior, but what she really sought for was healing.

Soon, he asked the question that Ishild had been waiting for. She new that most packs tended to ask this question, and she readily replied. "I've always grown up on the coast, and I can't seem to leave it. There's something about it that draws me to it. Saltwinter is by the water in a very beautiful spot, and I thought that I might like it," She told him, eyeing him to see how he'd react. She honestly didn't know. She'd been so straightforward so far, maybe he'd think she was lying? To be truthful, she was not lying, but there was no way for Kjalarr to know that for sure.

Kjalarr was contemplative as she responded to his inquiry with what he presume to be honesty. It seemed the coast was more of her fancy as opposed to anything she may have heard about Saltwinter, which in and of itself was fine. Admittedly, they were, whether it was intention or not, a reclusive bunch. He'd told a few of his home, but all of which he considered family in some capacity: Wildfire, Scimitar and of course Floki. Though he'd had some reservations about telling his twin Kjalarr trusted him and doubted that Floki would sell him out to Charon. Without the pompous king of the mountain in the picture they actually got along fairly well and had, thus far, worked to rebuild the tattered bridge that remained of their relationship with one another. No, Kjalarr doubted Floki would tell. The shore held within it it's own appeal, Kjalarr allowed. He, himself had been born upon the coast, in Stavanger Bay and he understood it's draw. The sea had a way of calling those who had left it back to her.

A few more seconds of silence lingered between them before Kjalarr's lips parted to speak only after a quick swipe of his salmon pink tongue against his jowls. “I am Kjalarr, your beta,” The Viking told her with a twitch of his lips upwards ever so slightly. It was a subtle way of welcoming her into their fold. “We will not carry dead-weights so I expect you to keep to your word and offer your skills to Saltwinter,” It surely went without saying and yet, lately, Kjalarr thought it not a bad thing to capitalize upon. “I recommend seeking out Caiaphas and introducing yourself.”

“What do they call you?” He inquired of her, realizing moments after he gave his own name that he did not know her's. He readied himself to give her the tour of Ankyra Sound but paused for her to cross the borders and make her introduction.

At his invintaion, she stepped over the borders gratefully with a flick of her ashen tail. She was a bit amused as he mentioned that the pack wouldn't carry dead-weights. Don't they all? If he knew her better, he would know that being a dead-weight was not her thing. In fact, she hated those who were. But he didn't know her, and she gave him a respectful nod. "I understand," She forced herself to say.

He asked her for her name, and she hesitated, contemplating on whether she should come up with a fake name, for just give up and tell him her real name. Then it hit her. Why would she keep her real name from him. He was a packmate now, so she should be able to trust him, right? She looked back up at Kjalarr with a new light in her eyes and a crooked smile on her mysterious features. "They call me Ishild," she told him coolly. "Ishild Cairn." 

figured this was a good place to conclude it and archive it (hopefully that was ok!). c:

 

Kjalarr gave a sage nod when Ishild spoke that she understood, seeing no need to further comment on the subject and so let it drop since they'd reached an understanding on the policy that was likely a top policy of any pack. She spoke her name: Ishild and even offered him a last name though, admittedly, it meant very little to the viking. He understood the importance of a sire-name, though. The one he carried was a legacy, and one that now rested on his shoulders and Floki's (since Kja doesn't know that Floki shed it). With names exchanged he gestured her to follow him and began the tour, pointing out places of interest to her but spent more time giving her a tour of The Grotto as it was where they spent most of their time as a pack.