Totoka River We'll be sailing,

Umbra was now a 'lady' of Ironclan, and with ambition to rise even higher then that. Just below the other, she had the desire to be equal, if not more. Perhaps the best bargain she would gain in these wilds, it would be foolish to simply turn it down. Especially, since there was enemies upon her, she couldn't stand before them without at least some to an ally.

Now there was the issue of @Sunhawk.. At this point Seafang counted him as a companion of sorts, but he seemed to have gotten lost. She was willing to drag him by the neck to present infront of Wintersbane as the 'silly wolf.' 

Where did he go?

He lurked along the coast here and there in the days that past, the wintry chill in the air more and more obvious. They were closer to the north again here, this he knew, but it was still a long distance to put them back in the realm that they had once lived in. Not that it was their particular intention to return to familiar climes by any means, but it had been the way that the hringja had led them.

Still, the comfort he had found along the jagged and easy slopes where the raven’s lived had given them much to think about. It was a pause in their travels that they had needed without really knowing it, perhaps more so now that they had others in tow. Though he conferred with his brother on a regular basis, he had not been long in the company of @Meadow, or rather as he called to call her now, Engi or the young @Miwa either. @Stjornuati was truly the only one that he spend an obscene amount of time in the company of, though now the two worked more solo in this span of time to draw up their considerations. But both always listened for the hringja, and the ravens had been telling them plenty in their dreams.

Further back from the coast, he trailed the river looking for an appropriate place to cross safely.

He had been on his own so far today, though he knew that would change. The subtle shift of seasons was drawing more and more out to hunt and to gather what they could before frost snuffed out the life and the cold drove the herds to mingle elsewhere. He gathered too but only things of his particular interest. Things that would aid them to making a decision to stay or go all listed on some mental pro-and-con scale. He had found where tender shoots of herbs were to tell Stjornuati and he had seen where the ravens found things for them to scavenge.

None of them would tell him of the wolf that would be cutting a path towards him soon.

There was someone nearby, and when the kraken turned to where it was, she spotted not Sunhawk, but a blackened figure in the distance. Her anger crackled, as she felt damned to know where the fool was. Did he go inland? Perhaps that was where she needed to head- otherwise, perhaps this stranger would know.

Imposing, she raised her head, not looking like someone who was to ask a favor or a question, rather she barked out with an voice of demand, then of reasoning, "Who are you?"

When she broke into his line of sight, she seemed just as much of a hellion as he did. Confidence eked out of her with severity, the sharpest of points in her gaze. Solpallur broke stoicism with a smile that was a bit too much teeth than politeness, his steps halting as the distance between them dwindled considerably.

“Ég svara þér ekki, reiður hrafn,” he rumbled back, his voice ever thick with a rasp that suggested disuse. But he had learned these wolves did not speak his native tongue; it was archaic to them now, he thought. They all spoke the same muddied words and too many of them. With a bristle of the hairs along his spine and the thick scruff of his neck, he continued: “Explain.”

Why did she approach him with a ferocity—was she among the drengr too?

He could wonder all he wanted; it was just as likely she was a Valkyrja come to try and steal him.

It made her beautiful.

He greeted back with his own malice, and her fur lifted up with a slight snarl to her face. Umbra did not speak his language, and he only said 'explain,' which angered her more. She had asked who he was, but instead demanded an explanation to what? She, who did not speak a similar language, barked

"Insolent," a snort of disdain, "you approach me, and demand an explanation? I give none- leave."

Again with the bits and pieces, the smattering of a language he had a rudimentary grasp of but had never picked up entirely—doubtful, he thought, that he ever would. He understood the tone, the bristling bout of body language that played like a symphony, and a thin, tooth glimmer of an ugly smile broke onto his face.

Leave, he knew that word. Leave, go, begone; all of them the same thing and often said in the same warning tone in anger. He chuckled then and it too was an ugly sounding thing. She had spunk, thought so highly of herself, and he wondered just how far she was willing to take things.

“No,” he told her as his chuckling came to a sharp end.

He said no, and only laughed. Normally, Umbra would be far more angered by his behavior, but moreso was simply confused overall. He approached her, and asked for an unknown explanation and simply refused to leave- the kraken couldn't understand what his aim was.

"Then, you wish to fight?"

Her next comment delighted him; he enjoyed a good fight.

And the temptation was there as ever naturally would be, though he felt an inclination not to rise to her offer. Had he and Stjornuati been more established, there would have been no debate on whether or not to engage. Instead he was pigeonholed into casting a look of consideration, sizing her up and weighing his odds on just how menacing she could really be.

The same note was held in his voice as he swallowed it roughly.

“Kannski.” Clearing his throat of the considering note did nothing to change his voice. “Does you fight? You, ah, hermaðr? How you say, f-ight-er? Fighter?” Not quite the word he wanted in the translation, but many things were lost. He did not have a mastery or command over her tongue like his own; Stjornuati once again took the crown of being the omniglot of the two of them. Solpallur preferred the languages of the norðan fyrir ofan, not these pasty, cumbersome words he was forced into trying.

“Bardagi? That is, how you say, beating? No. Jaw-sparring. Fun.” he went on, his head bobbing agreeably. His version of compromising, provided she didn’t just tear him limb from limb right then and there. Not that she could, of course; he would have had to do the same in return.

His teeth clicked together.

“This one thinks this one be nice this time. Yes?”

"Where are you from." Her questions were always more of a demand than asking of something; the kraken knew not how to act nicely when she wanted an answer. Though this fellow who irritated her so, kept switching from strong language she knew, to another she did not. Foreigners, just as she is to this land;

but he pissed her off enough.

"No." Umbra said plainly, the dark body crouching down as she tactifully started to circle the fellow. 

She wanted not just a fun spar, she wanted blood to be spilled.

“Norðan,” he told her, eyes narrowing to the predatory circle she had begun. But Solpallur would not expose his back to her, already turning in a much smaller radius to keep her front and center of his line of sight. Just as before he did not expect her to understand, though perhaps if she were astute enough she might have construed an answer out of his mother tongue for North.

He breathed out harshly through his nose, the breath so warm that it plumed in front of him.

With a roar akin to a battlecry, he charged her, and the shout devolved into a snarl as he went reaching for her. It was a show of superiority, her last opportunity to bend to his will and request—if he would have grabbed her. He chose not to at that last possible moment—rather, he failed; she had finesse and stature on her side—teeth snapping at the air where she had just been in her circle and leaving him with naught else to do than follow up with a solid defense; his head tipped down to protect his throat, leaving the thick scruff his neck to bear any lashing she would bestow upon him.

And so it would begin.

did a die roll for success and rolled a 1 where evens are hit, odds are miss. if you’d prefer not to do rolls feel free to just run with what i wrote since i left it vague-ish idk

thats fine! rolled a miss

Like two swords did they clash, both snarling like the wild wolves that they are, though he missed upon her movement, and decided to tuck his head. Though she? Normally would do the same, except at the moment Umbra was on pure offense since the deed on Dragoncrest cliff, she felt a rage upon losing so, and was determined to take it out on this fellow.

Maw opened and fangs ready to grab, she leaped at him like a tide against the wave- but weather to miss or not, was up to fate. She wanted to dive at his flesh.

Her anger, like his own was prone to do, made her reckless. He saw her motion as though time had slowed down for that brief instance and shifted himself at the last moment to send her sailing past him. Though in doing so he missed a grand opportunity himself to latch onto her as she went by, and his teeth raked through the open air where her flank should have been.

Solpallur made a note of interest at such; perhaps she truly more deft and light of foot than he. But he was built for the fight regardless, even if he couldn’t catch a hold on her winter coat no more than she could him. He entrenched himself again just as he had before, none too unlike a matador waving a red flag at an enraged bull. She could expend all the energy she wanted to coming at him if all he had to do was provoke her.

rolled yet another miss

158 words

another miss!

Umbra was getting fustrated- the two seemed evenly matched in the way where their hits would collide, but nothing would happen, or but a simple miss. He tried to grab her and she too tried to scratch, but instead scattered away to the other end. She let out a fustrated growl, "This is getting us nowhere," the seafang declared.

Her head rose high, stormy eyes looking onto Solpallur, "what is your name?"

She peeled away from him again, their frustrations timed together in violent snarls and gasps over failing grasps and flailing limbs. He huffed but did not pursue her, thinking that perhaps she had seen enough of his prowess to quit the scene… but such was not the case at all. His nostrils flared with anger as he regained his composure; he did not release the tension coiled in his body yet, nor devolve to something other than a defensive posture.

“No,” he rumbled lowly, perhaps the darkest statement yet. He barreled forward then, the word barely off his tongue as he dove towards her to grab at her shoulder. She would not get her parlay here unless it was to concede in full, and he had ascertained she was not the sort to heel so easily. She would have to be forced to submission, if not chased away, and the same went for him. But Solpallur would not strike for blood just for the sake of bleeding, there was purpose in his grasping.

It could have just been a simple exchange of information, but she had stoked the fire.

rolled a 2

Though she unwillingly sought for peace, he only give a now. She let a low growl then, now ignoring the man for any words, since he had discarded her own. Umbra's mindset was now he was but a animal of prey, then another wolf, for others can speak, and this one could not.

She wanted to dive into a charge on attack, yet instead he dove for her shoulder, and caught so. She was in a position that wasn't willing to get away, and thus at a stalemate where the seafang felt herself being pushed down, but refused to submit to the black rat.

rolled a 1

She did not relent or thrash against his grip—a wise move on her part. To do so would have only done her more harm than good; it was the mark of a smart warrior to know where they had been bested, even if the quarrel was far from over. He felt the urge to keep going, to make it painful for her, but there was little enjoyment in that. If she were as loosened to the world as he was, an injury out of her reach would only fester and for as late as the season was it had every possibility of sending her into a decline.

A good drengr did not spill blood needlessly.

It would not be worth the misfortune reaped from sowing a grim victory.

He held her down with force, daring to place his feet on her enough to lessen the hold he had on her to spring away and spin about. An ugly grin spread on his face, conveying clearly that he was pleased in his own success. It was here that he hoped to open the dialogue he had denied her moments ago, and launched into such promptly.

“You fight well,” he managed out in that stilted, ugly common tongue. “This one is Solpallur af Stormskýli. This one honored in meet of another drengr.” He shook out his coat. “Your pack is proud to have you.” A concession of sorts, though his guard did not lower itself, he had no interest now in pushing and testing her limits now.

“Nafn? Name?” he asked then, eyes alight with renewed interest.

sorry for holding this up

Umbra did not enjoy being played with. The more on this matter infuriated her rather then an enjoyment of a spar, and she wanted blood on his black pelt. To spray across the floor and take an eye like a past tale, but that past was but pure luck, she doubted it would happen again. When he spun back like a jester and a sickening grin, a growl released from her throat as she was low to the ground.

"No." She asked twice, and the strange wolf refused to give a new both times. Why would she give him the same? Her name remain unknown, and the pack she claims to be in will be anonymous. However now she was simply dull of this matter, more over the factor she couldn't win easily, but simply didn't want to lose as well.

"I'm leaving." However the kraken wouldn't turn her back just yet, just in case he attacked like a coward.