Stavanger Bay the lighthouse

The forest faded into sparse trees that lined the area just before the shore. Knaven stood on the edge of those two worlds with a pensive expression. The light from overhead was dim; heavy clouds rolled in, threatening them with more rainfall. Even born by the sea, the yearling had never been so wet in his entire life. He wondered how it would impact the change in seasons, and whether it would prove to be useful to the terrain. Surely, more water could not do them harm. Still, he missed the feeling of the warm summer sun.
 
Stepping through the trees and down onto the sands, Knaven dropped his head to search for signs of potential claimers. It did not seem that the bay had housed any one pack in some time. Still, he could catch wind of the few travelers who had passed through. The longer that he stared at it, the more disgruntled he felt. Their father had spoken so reverently of the bay. He had expected much more.

with her comes the scent of earth and herbs; the smell mingles with the tang of salty brine.  she arrives after many long weeks of traveling, her feet numbed by their soreness.  naturally, natshana ignores their warnings.  she is searching for someone and, until she finds them, she must keep moving.  fate would not have the apothecary reuniting with her cousin today, it seems.  instead, she's might with an unfamiliar face.  this stops her advance.  she cannot scent much about them from this distance.  they appear within their first year, teetering on the edge of adulthood.  she supposes she can handle a yearling -- if that's, indeed, what they are.

"drop yu bilaik of*?" she calls out casually to the other wolf, keeping her distance until she's certain he won't be any trouble.  natshana has no way of knowing that he doesn't speak the language.  after all, she has just come from a location that strictly speaks her mother tongue. 

* are you lost?
@Knaven

A voice sounds, pulling the dark wolf’s ears back to catch the words of the stranger. It was the peculiar manner of the language that caused Knaven to pause in his trek, swinging his head around and fixing his sights on the she-wolf with interest. He’d never heard such words before, and he wondered if the wolves of that place were known to learn it, or if the woman had picked up the skill from somewhere else. On the islands of his home, Knaven could recall some of the witchdoctor’s speaking in what they had referred to as the language of the depths, but he’d never done well to learn it.
 
“Now, m’fraid I didn’t quite catch that,” the earthly beast spoke with a curiously warm lilt in his voice. His strapping frame turned so that he could face her fully, taking in the appearance of the female with a gaze that had settled somewhere between hungry and thoughtful. Her eyes seemed to glimmer like the moon.

his initial response doesn't surprise her.  though she understands what he says, she doesn't intend to make this fully known.  warriors of her pack are the ones who typically learn common so that they may know the language of enemies.  healers (or, in natshana's case, those who train under them) aren't bilingual as often.  while she's in this new land, she wants to keep her familiarity with the common tongue as furtive as she can.  wolves may have looser lips if they believe a companion cannot understand the words they speak.  so, she furrows her brow at his reply, followed shortly thereafter by a tilt of her head.

"ai nou get in chon emo sleng yu so laik chicha*," despite the language barrier, her tone of voice indicates her confusion.  with the change in her tone, too, comes the continued furrowing of her brow.  natshana knows that she will have to soften her personality considerably if she is to play the part of a nonnative wolf.  she cannot risk both lacking knowledge and being rude. "ah..." she pretends to think over her words carefully, as though she's searching for something to bridge the gap between them. "chit ste yu... tagon**?" very quickly her face dissolves into a realization that this follow-up question is just as useless.  her ears topple in a silent apology.

*i don't know which language you are speaking.
** what is your name?"

The woman spoke again in her strange tongue and the druid of the sea lifted his crown up to its full height and regarded her with stiff ears and a daring look in his vision. She really did not speak the common tongue, it seemed. The string of words seemed to have ended as a query, but the sly yearling did not believe that he would be able to adequately answer it without having a basic grasp of what she was trying to say to him. Knaven furrowed his brow and made an effort to give himself an appearance that was nonthreatening. He wasn’t seeking to frighten her away just yet, though if he could not find a way to communicate with the girl, he imagined he would grow bored swiftly.
 
“I’m Knaven,” he tried to offer, lips curling into a con man’s smirk that left the tips of his canines peeking from beneath. He imagined introductions were the best place to start. Then, knowing that it probably didn’t seem like something she would register as being a moniker, he lowered his muzzle in a manner of gesturing to himself and spoke again, “Knaven.” The druid did not believe that asking her a follow-up question would be beneficial, so instead he just canted his head to the side as a way to ask, what about you?

her eyes watch as he rises to his full height.  it is not difficult for any wolf to tower over natshana, but she does not appear to flinch at the minor display of power.  instead, she continues to observe him in silence, a quiet ferocity in her pale eyes.  he offers his name, and she is quite surprised (though she does not show it).  whether by sheer luck or the other wolf's knowledge of social graces, he seems to have ascertained what she had asked for.  she feigns confusion briefly, before invoking an expression of clarity and understanding on her face once he speaks his name for a second time.

"kna-ven," she says it back to him, seeming to try the sounds out for herself.  her muzzle, too, indicates her companion to show that she appears to have understood the association. "natshana," her name is then given as she mirrors his previous gesture to himself now to indicate herself.  she tilts her head in the same way he had before pausing to think. "kna-ven... pack?" it's the most common word she believes she can get away with knowing without arising suspicion.  packs are a staple of wolf life everywhere, after all.

The female managed to fumble through his name well enough. The rogue offered her an affirmative bob of his head to let her know that it would suffice. He knew that there would not be much they could say to each other without a shared language, and the words she had spoken to him before were nothing like any word he had heard from either of his parents or the other members of his natal pack. The girl then offers what he assumes is her own moniker.
 
“Natshana?” he tested, hoping that she would find it good enough. The sound was definitely something foreign to him, but then the girl went on to inquire if he belonged to a pack.
 
Knaven tilted his head slightly, brow creasing with thought. “No pack. Lone wolf,” he tells her in a confident tone, unashamed of the lack of a tying to any claimed land. The young druid was certain that if he found himself in need of a home, he could manage to pull together a group of others who would take to the bay… just as his father had. “Natshana pack?”

for a moment, she considers shattering the mirage she's spun.  there is little harm in an interaction with a lone wolf.  the ones belonging to packs provide the most risk.  then again, she would be a fool to think packs do not have their paws in many interests.  natshana watches knaven with a weighted gaze; it hangs on him heavily, encroaching on him as moonlight does in the absence of day.  she won't be able to get much out of him with this tactic.  her mask falls like porcelain to the floor, shattering into many, violent pieces.

"i suppose the charade gets old quickly," she offers out of the blue, decidedly ending her ruse prematurely. "in these lands, i am a wolf without a banner, but that does not mean that there are not those i pledge allegiance to." her tail sways once, and she reclines to a sitting position. "what is your trade?  perhaps we can help one another.  i seek to understand more of these wilds."

Interesting…
 
The druid furrowed his brow thoughtfully as she ended her yarn and spoke to him in a common tongue that was not even touched by accent. Knaven found the previous charade to have been unnecessary, but he wondered why she’d felt it was needed. This was enough to keep him there, though for how long he was uncertain. He wasn’t fond of the dishonest, and those who were dishonest for no discernable reason were worse.
 
“Bit o’ this… and a bit o’ that,” he went on before casting a crooked smirk toward her and shrugging a bit. “Mercenary work, spiritual work, I’m a right talent in the water under the right circumstances,” he then went on to explain to the she-wolf. He wasn’t certain they had anything to offer each other just yet, but Knaven knew better than to throw in his chips before he knew his odds.
 
“Primarily just a fisher’s boy, though. Can’t say I’ve got many things you’d need, ma’am.”
 
What would she do with that?