Totoka River you requested it, so we rewind

@Stjornuati

The morning had been spent marking the borders, and the afternoon on the shoreline, hunting for her supper. Half a seal had washed up for her to drag back, saving her the trouble of actually killing something — and so, now came the evening.

Presently, she was standing in the cold waters of the Totoka River, preening at a scab on her shoulder. She was not sure where it'd come from, but the chewy bits of scab were a nice after-lunch treat, as far as she was concerned. Soon enough, it would heal and fade entirely from memory — but nothing could ever take this meal from her.

The rest of her body was already clean; she'd spent nearly an hour grooming herself, by then, and was now simply whiling away the rest of the day, wondering what the kids were doing back at home.

The weather this night was refreshing, reminding the man of the weather of his homelands. It was a thing that he missed, at times, when his frustration with this new world mounted; other times, he reveled in the freedom placed at his paws, despite the small band of wolves he and his brother had seemed to collect thus far. Little @Miwa, then @Meadow, along with @Akai and @Minah. Truthfully, he was a bit surprised that he and @Solpallur had ended up with so many, but the presence of them was comforting.

Tonight was a night stricken out alone, following the river to see what resources it had to offer. A few times, he would stop and note the plantlife, seeing what was here that would assist him in his role as a healer. After the incident with the wayward child that had hit her head, Stjornuati was reminded that he needed to start his collections so that he remained prepared even in the hardest of times.

There was no surprise when he happened upon the bathing shewolf, and no shame as he stood to watch, curious over he unique markings and the way she picked at a wound until the scab tore away. The cut, of course, beaded blood as the site was traumatized again. A soft tch of his tongue against his teeth was made, calling out to her in somewhat judgemental interest. Sárið getur ekki gróið þannig. In this moment, he did not care if she understood him or not.

Although she would never be a particularly welcoming presence to strangers, Moorhen had come a long way from her violent and prickly beginnings. The approach of another was noted, but until he proved himself a nuissance, she was content to let him go about his business unaccosted. She was confident in her own abilities, and intent on her bath either way.

But the man took an interest in her, and so Moorhen paused her ministrations to stare balefully back at him. "Það mun gróa fyrir brúðkaupið," she replied, employing a phrase she had oft heard Fen use in relation to various injuries. If it wouldn't kill, it would eventually heal. She was not concerned about a little blood and scarring.

"Ha!" she exclaimed when she realized he'd spoken in the tongue she knew so well. "Þú ert maður frá norðurlandi!" She was already shaking out her pelt and striding toward him, body language friendly and seeking. "Ég hef ekki hitt annað í mörgum tunglum."

She felt so light and free and graceful to be speaking the Northern tongue once more; the lilting words came to her far more easily than the language spoken in these lands.

Her cryptic response was barely noted, liver colored eyes widening in surprise at the sole fact that he could understand her. Loksins! The exclamation left his mouth with little thought, bounding to the edge of the river with a spring in his step and an emphatic wag of his tail.

Systir! Hvar hefur þú verið að fela þig allan þennan tíma? He would close the distance with her, giving the woman a gentle butt of his head as if she was an old friend. Perhaps, in this moment, she was; a woman of the north and a speaker of his natal tongue. Solpallur would be light of heart to learn such information.

Ég er Stjörnuáti af Stormskýli. Við bróðir minn erum komnir til þessara landa til að svara símtalinu. Ég er ánægðust með að hitta þig. The golden tinged wolf stepped back then, giving her a bit of space, both so that he did not crowd her and so that he could better see her.

The male came to meet her just as enthusiastically — which was, somehow, not what she wanted. the erne reeled back a fraction, bristling even as she endured his nearness with a wary, baffled expression writ across her dark face.

"Ég fel ekki," she replied, a bit of a grumble in her tone just for the implication. A moment later, she supposed that this must be just another expression, and one that she should not take offense to. The same as being called sister — which was something of a sore spot, after running into two of her actual brothers quite recently.

The man, however, did not deserve her ire. As he stepped back, she willed herself to settle down, and replied, "Ég er Moor Cairn-Corten. Frá þessari strönd, en ég er alinn upp á Rauða Túninu." She did not know what call he spoke of, and hoped that it was not another culturally thing for her to disappoint him with through her ignorance. "Þú ert vel mætt, Stjornuati," she added, a little more shyly now that she realized speaking the same language might not lead to immediate understanding.

phone post so I haven't translated anything 

Of course she did not hide, she was a wolf of his homeland, even if she did not share in his culture and upbringing. He would only give her a toothy grin and a bob of his head head in acknowledgment to her begrudging statement, far more focused on the introduction she gave, scribing her name into the stores of his memory. 

Moor, He repeated, the gentle wave of his appendage picking up a beat once more, though only for a moment. While he did not know the Red Meadows, this mattered little to the man. While their upbringings were different, the two wolves seemed to be fundamentally similar at the very least. 

It feels good to speak normally with another, He told her. He and Solpallur conversed as such regularly but to find another. The star eater was delighted to say the least. You are from these lands? she had been birthed here, yes, but was that all? Or did she have knowledge of these Wilds?

Few wolves — aside from Coelacanth — had ever been so happy to see her. Even her young charges, who she was sure loved her like an elder sister or young aunt, did not usually react with such joy upon discovering her presence. She was more accustomed to guilty faces and screams of childish terror.

It was — nice, even if she was not quite sure how to relax and take this enthusiasm in stride. The result was a very self-conscious Moorhen, struggling to remain her composure while speaking to a stranger as if they were old friends. Yes, she agreed, slipping momentarily back into common tongue as he pointed this out, and for one terrifying moment she forgot every word she knew, in any language. After a quick breath and a shy smile, however, she found her voice once more.

Ja, she agreed, a little more confidently. Ég er frá flóanum hérna. Pakkinn minn, Ironclan, fullyrðir það.

A bead of water dripped into her wound, and she turned her head automatically to bite at it before remembering herself. Your others, she said, and then cleared her throat to begin again, Þú ferðast með félögum. Þú ert hirðingjar? Eða leitar þú heima?

Ironclan. While he didn't quite understand what the words meant, the name sounded strong, fitting for a woman of her blood to be leading. The legendary wolf of black fur and teeth of steel was a female that stood prevalent in the tales he had been told as a hvolpar, leading the Northern empire of Tartok better than any other could hope to. Her lineage had laid the foundation for Stormhaven with its blood and fangs, the tale one that the öldungar of their home spun for any hvolpar that would listen. And the star eater had listened many times.

The way she turned to pick at her shoulder a second time caused a low turn to carve its mark across his maw. Ég get hjálpað til við það. The offer slid in just before she spoke, any further effort to bolster his assistance dying in his throat. The query she volleyed to him was given thought, not because he didn't have an answer but because he wasn't quite sure what the answer was.

A thoughtful, guttural sound slipped from him moments before those sharp-toothed jaws parted, giving her what he could. Bróðir minn, Solpallur, og ég sjálfur. Við höfum verið lengi á ferð. They had been on their own for so long, and then... And then what? Engi. Miwa. Akai and Minah. Við erum að leita að heimili, já. Í bili erum við í skóginum undir augum hrafnanna. Það eru aðrir undir vernd okkar líka. Börn líka.

A thought occured to him and he would ask a question back at her, though perhaps not one she would expect. Hefurðu heyrt um mæður sem sakna ungabarna sinna?