Wapun Meadow cast by their grave-beseeming ornaments

The other seems content to allow distance to remain between them - something that goes a long way toward endearing himself toward the banded girl. Willing contact with the girl was not something that was easily earned.

"Sagan," Sif repeats, her tongue clumsy and hesitant around the unfamiliar word. Eventually, she shook her head, ears flipping back in embarassment. "Vet ikke. Har ingenting. Alone."

She did her best to answer what she understood of his query - she was asking her for something, she thought - but even this was a bit beyond her. She could not say it eloquently, at least, and so, she kept her own questions caged in her breast, feeling oddly bashful around the strange male. He was the first wolf to seem truly interested in speaking to her, even after hearing her stunted vocabulary. She wondered how he'd come to speak Fen's words. He was also the first wolf she'd met aside from the pack beside Fen's land that spoke the northern tongue that she had just begun to learn when her carer had passed away. It was a harsh land she'd left behind, but there was still comfort in the familiarity of his voice, the sharp and rollicking sounds of words she didn't even know, but recognized as being part of a beloved language.

"Hallo," she said with a tentative wag of her tail, for lack of anything constructive to add to the conversation.