Honeyed Pasture Chasing the wind

He was glad to see some semblance of familiar territory as they camped near the mountain. A wide expanse of grassland was nestled in the mountains' shadow, perfect running space for the Dotharan.

As soon as he had the chance, Zoratto burst into a run, leaving @Alastor and the tag along @Vixen in his dust. The Dotharan laughed, his long limbs tearing up the dirt underneath his blunt claws, moving like a fish through the grass sea. He ran in circles, cutting sharp corners and wheeling around quickly as a Dotharan scout was born and bred to do, finally skidding to a halt, his taut chest heaving, smirking at his two companions.

Following his meeting at Silvertip, the male had chosen to camp out in a nearby land for a few days. It was with his two traveling companions that he'd done so, keeping near to them in the night and offering them the use of his body heat whenever it was necessary. Alastor would never force anything, and so the offer had always been left to hang there, open to be either taken or ignored. No matter, he'd made sure to keep himself in a space that could occupy more than just himself to be prepared for anything. It had been decided that he'd not drag their stay there out any longer, though, and so he'd chosen to announce his plans that night.

While the decision had been made, he'd not followed through with speaking it just yet, having opted to remain silent for a few moments longer. In the meantime, he'd kept himself awake and moving, watching over his companions whilst enjoying being in their company. And when Zoratto had run off, he'd been tempted to give chase and play, but had held back, leaving the other male to enjoy the moment. When he'd come to a stop, however, Alastor had approached, a smile on his lips. "You like this sort of terrain better than the mountains, don't you?" the Greek questioned, feeling a pang of guilt jolt up through his chest as he spoke. The fact that he wanted to visit and, perhaps, live upon another mountain made him feel bad, for he didn't want to force either of them to stay anywhere, nor did he want to abandon them.

Zoratto broke into another run, uncowed by his initial burst of energy. The boy ran circles around Alastor, weaving in and out around him until he stopped once more, the Greek's question reaching his ears.

Sek- yes. He smirked, tongue lolling from the side of his mouth. Dotharan, no, wolves born to run. Me more so. No run on mountains.

Again the younger had run, and Alastor simply watched as he’d done so. To engage in a game of chase was not currently on his mind, and so he’d waited for his companion to come to a stop. The question posed was answered, towards which the foreigner nodded. His expression grew thoughtful, his options and words both being considered before his voice could be found. Zoratto was born to run across the plains, which made the idea of confining him to a mountain seem wrong. Yet, what other options did they have? He could not return to Silvertip, he would not put them through that. There was, however, another pack that he’d promised to consider joining. To go to them—to his friend—seemed practical, but could he do it? Could he put his little group of travelers through that?

Jaws parted, but words hadn’t come out right away. It’d taken him a few tries before his voice had been found, asking, “Would you leave if I took us to another mountain?” He shifted slightly, glancing away from his companion for a second or two. “Do you think you could live on one?” Winter was approaching, and so they needed a place to stay. Aesop had assured him that he’d put in a good word for the Greek, and so he was hopeful that the same could be done for the other two, should Alastor not be left to continue the journey alone.

Zoratto frowned for a moment. Alastor seemed keen on living atop a mountain; he wasn't making the case of him not being a maegi. The Dotharan snorted, stamping one foot, a Dotharan trait similar to the buffalo they chased. Will live on foot of mountain. He eventually grumbled. Not on top. Perhaps, if they eventually settled on a mountain, they would extend part of their land to the valleys and grasslands below. There, Zoratto could run without fear of disturbing the dead.

A frown appeared, and he’d felt bad for having asked. He’d wanted to find a place that they could all enjoy the entirety of, but he’d also wanted to settle with an old friend. For the second time in his life, he’d chosen a selfish path over a selfless one. It made his stomach churn, feeling as if he was dishonouring his mother’s memory, but he couldn’t go back now. His mind had been made up and, when he stopped and thought about it, he was happy. To think that he’d be near to an old friend, a familiar face with whom he’d spoken his favoured language, made him glad. Then, when Zoratto was won over, he was ecstatic.

“That’s fine,” the male voiced, smiling. “You don’t have to live on top of it.” If that was the compromise that had to be made, then he’d accept it. It wasn’t a terrible thing, really, and allowed for the both of them to have a home for the winter without losing the other. Another thought hit him then, and he’d asked, “Will you never climb a mountain?” Alastor’s head tilted slightly, regarding his companion with a curious look. “I could help you deal with whatever it is that you don’t like about them.” The offer was made with good intentions in mind. He didn’t want the other to miss out on anything just because there was something about mountains that bothered him.

Zoratto flopped to the ground, quickly catching his breath but still feeling the burn in his muscles. All this talk of mountains unnerved him, and Alastor didn't even know why. It was time for the Greek to learn about it anyway; it would help him in the future.

Dead things live on mountains. Spir...spirits? Dead wolves, Rhoa. Not good to normal Dotharan, only like Khals vur Dosh Khaleen. His words faltered, the Dotharan tongue came back to him, thick and familiar as he thought of the dead spirits, unfriendly spirits. He did not know the right way to placate them; the Khals learned, the Khaleen learned. Not normal warriors like him.

As the other flopped to the ground, Alastor situated himself near to his body. He’d lowered himself down until his stomach was pressed against the earth, eyes facing his companion whilst an answer was waited on. Truthfully, he knew little of his friend, and absolutely nothing about his cultural background. He was ignorant to the workings of Zoratto’s mind, as well as the reason behind his fear of the mountains. It had been thought upon, the notion of asking, but never had he gone through with doing so. Now, given their topic of conversation, it seemed as if he wouldn’t have to. His friend had started to speak, and so the Greek listened on without a single interruption.

Come the end of the explanation, his brows had furrowed, for his brain could not translate the words into something that he might be able to understand. It wasn’t something that he was at all familiar with, but he’d not asked for a repeat, believing that the first section of the male’s words had been enough. “I didn’t know,” he’d said, the words quiet. Pulling his ears back, Alastor glanced away for a second, working to piece together what he might say next. Never had he heard of spirits inhabiting the mountains, but, he knew, different cultures believed in different things. Looking back, he continued by saying, “The spirits will not hurt you. I promise.” Could he really promise such a thing? It didn’t matter if he could or not, because the words had already left his mouth, and so he’d now do everything in his power to keep them from being made into a lie.

He frowned. What could he do? He was no maegi, not even in the slightest regard. He had no knowledge of the spells, the chants necessary. Zoratto huffed, glancing at Alastor. I can protect me. He snorted. Zoratto paused, then met Alastor's eyes. But thanks. Vinxa.

There was a huff and a snort, both of which he’d looked passed in favour of the actual words. He spoke of protecting himself, which was a statement that the foreigner refused to argue against. Though he felt as if one could do far better with a companion than they could ever do alone, he would not force his beliefs onto his friend, and so the topic was dropped with a nod of his head. Of course, that didn’t mean that he’d never assist the other. In fact, it was far more likely that he’d watch out for him as often as he could, ensuring he did not become distressed, but from afar.

The final word to be spoken stood out, prompting him to tilt his head. An attempt at repeating it was not made, for he worried over mispronunciations. It wasn’t to be forgotten, though, and so he’d asked, “What does that mean?” Given that he knew so little about Zoratto and the culture that he was reared in, he was curious about many things, the language included.

Vinxa... thanks. We don't use it often, He murmured back. Those tribes and packs that the khalases raided liked to joke that the Dotharan have no word for thank you, but it was not true. We use San athchomari. He liked the feeling of his native tongue being spoken, and revelled in it as he taught Alastor. He thought he would never speak it again...a troubling thought, even if he was outcasted. It means...honor on you. San athchomari yeraan. Much honor on you.

The language spoken was not one that he was at all familiar with speaking, nor had he ever heard it prior to meeting Zoratto. Still, he wasn’t any less inclined to hear of the meanings for certain words, especially since it was something that a friend seemed to be comfortable with. He couldn’t hep but wonder if, whilst telling him about the language, Zoratto felt the same surge of excitement as the foreigner had back when he’d taught Aesop some Greek. Recalling that moment made him extra attentive, not wanting to come off as being disinterested—especially since he felt the exact opposite.

“It is an interesting language,” he commented, making no attempts at repeating anything. He could appreciate the sound of it, but the tones were far too different from both Greek and English for him to feel comfortable making an attempt at speaking the words. “Will you teach me more about your culture and language over time?” the male asked. “If you’d rather not, I understand, but I want to learn more about you and where you come from.” Never would he venture there no matter how much information was acquired, but it was still better, he believed, to have knowledge of other cultures and the like just in case.

He was confused by Alastor's labelling. Interesting? It was his language, nothing more, just like the language he was speaking to Alastor in was a language. It was simply a means a communication. He found nothing interesting about the language he was born and raised with. Sure, I could tell you, He shrugged. But you have to do the same, If they were going to be hanging out, it was imperative that he learned more about the other's culture.

Alastor would have settled for any of the responses that he could have received, though he was in possession of a favourite—which was the very same that he’d received. He’d have accepted it had the other been disinterested in sharing anything about his culture, but wouldn’t have been too happy had things played out that way. And though the information would be coming with a price, it was something that he knew he could afford, and made him look forward to spending more time with the masked wolf. “I can do that,” he’d said, agreeing to the terms. “I look forward to learning from you.” The language was likely to be something that he’d never be capable of speaking, but he was still excited to learn about what certain words meant. He was more excited, of course, to learn about the culture as a whole, believing that knowing Zoratto’s background might help him to better understand the younger male.

“For now, perhaps we should find somewhere to rest for the night,” the Greek suggested. Without a pack to sleep alongside, he wanted to be prepared for anything, and so a secured location was necessary for them to spend the night in.

Fade here?

Alastor had a stronger grasp on the "common" tongue than Zoratto, so he knew less about the Greek's language, and even his culture, than Alastor knew of his own. It was an imbalance Zoratto sought to remedy; they should not be so out of order. He nodded, grunting in agreement. Let's go then,

Sounds good. ^^

It was an imbalance, but surely they would someday come to learn more about one another and correct that. For how long that might take no one could be sure, but Alastor believed he’d not stop until his goal was met. For the two to possess a decent understanding of one another, as well as know what to say or do in certain situations. For now, however, he’d settle for resting. The moment his suggestion had been supported, the Greek smiled and turned, and hadn’t stopped again until a shelter was found. There they would rest for the night and then continue onward in the morning.