Nova Peak where you hang your enemy's head

@Mahler a sacrifice recruit for u

The shadow lingers at the door, contemplating the pack's strength from the outskirts. Not the largest gathering, yet not the smallest, either. The mountain looms over the land around it, something she admires; but are the inhabitants the same? It seems a toss up. Perhaps uniquely suited to her purpose — or perhaps another dud, as the last had been. Regardless, delaying will tell her nothing. She steps forward, head tilting back as she calls for the presence of a leader. The daughter of night has chosen her next experiment, her new testing grounds. Now to see how long this one will last.

it was nightfall now. somewhere on the mountain, wylla searched for their children and mahler wore a stiff path around the girdle of sagtannet. 
dark now, winds whistling overhead. for a long moment he glanced into the bleakness, wondering if he should walk into it and let the sum of himself be eclipsed.
a summons for him. he alone. wylla was leaving. mahler repeated it to himself as he numbly attended the stranger. eloquently built, shadowframed. moonlight along her spine.
he was silent.

A leader comes to greet her swiftly, all towering stone and cold lilac gems. Her mismatched gaze sweeps over him briefly, lowering respectfully as she dips her head in greeting. Immediately this man strikes her as the sort of leader she might follow — a wolf who will demand only what she is already happy to give, and ignore the subtle oddities. But she doesn't count too much on first impressions. I am Morgana; healer, poison-master, keeper of history. My family grew past the limits of our home, so I have dispersed in search of a new one for myself, Only half a lie. She continues without pause. Yet the packs I have encountered thus far are full of weak wolves, those who band together out of desperation. I seek a strong leader to pledge my skills to — and if you were to describe yourself as such, I would believe you. The hint of a smile touches her features. She's certain she doesn't need to point out Mahler's formidable aura to him; he has the look of a man who knows as much, and uses it to his advantage wherever he can.

mahler stared down at the nightwoman as she spoke. her voice was cunning and promised a swift violence, but her words felt rehearsed.
"you do not even know my name," he scoffed lowly, though her obeisance pleased some cold part of him. "morgana. poisons." perhaps she was lying; mahler saw no reason for it. such a swift offer of fealty bespoke that she had dealt with greedy men. she would need to offer more for the gargoyle to invite her inside the falling mountain.
"this is sagtannet. in return for your efforts, i can only offer hardship for the vinter and vill promise nothing that i cannot give. a home. a bed. honesty."

It pleases some part of her, to know that he'd taken her blunt intentions and mild flattery to hold such deep meaning, a little spark of delight at watching his reaction to the imagined meaning behind her words. There's something oddly intriguing about seeing a genuine response hurled in the wrong direction entirely, falling into a null void with its total lack of relevance. I did start introductions, she almost points out — but men can be so fragile with their egos, so she refrains. It seems she'll have to do all the heavy lifting in this conversation, but she doesn't mind. A leader with a low tolerance for higher thinking is exactly what she's looking for. Apologies if my bluntness has disturbed you; I have always been forward with my intentions, She apologizes smoothly, charmed by the way he tries to make his home sound as unappealing as possible. It only sparks her interest further. Honesty is a rare offer. Please, tell me your name, and more of Sagtannet. What sort of wolves live under your rule — and what would you have of me, if I wish to join you?

"contrary. i think you are not blunt. you are attractive, and that is vhat men see first. so you do not need to try." something dangerous limning the heaviness of his jawline. "i am mahler. very few follow me." suspicion in the crux of his throat; he turned away all the same and began to lead morgana along a patrol of the foothills.
"loyalty. to me. to this pack. the hardship is because so many have left."
had he been searching for asra?
"and in the future, there may be more for you to claim."

Perhaps she'd underestimated him; his observation is sharp, maybe even shockingly so if Morgana hadn't led such an unusual life. The way things stand, he isn't entirely on the mark — but close. Men haven't defined her life enough for it to be true in the way he seems to assume. Still, she offers another dip of her head, a silent submissive acknowledgement of words accompanied by a tilt of the ears, as if to say I cannot agree, but I will not openly contradict you. It is the best she can offer without argument.
She follows him when he starts to move, responding to the clues in his body language that invite her along. Mahler, he introduces himself, speaking of few followers and an exodus of members — and hopes for the future, it seems. Loyalty, I can give — but I will make no grand promises. Perhaps my sense of etiquette gave the wrong impression; I know enough of loyalty to know that it must be proven, and earned, She glances toward him, gaze respectfully below his eyes. You speak of more — this interests me. Sagtannet interests me. I offer full use of my skills, and my obedience in all things so long as I am under your rule. These things, I can promise and prove to be true right now, if you wish. Only time can prove the loyalty you seek.

a cool assessment of the pack, of himself; he sensed the hungry prying of her mind even before she spoke. morgana was deferential but not conquered, and nor would mahler wish such. the river of wylla carved at the stone of him; it had for years and had narrowed its harshest points into these last hours, which he could only count as hours.
"i vant a strong foothold in this taiga. build from a smaller point into a stronger land. spread out vhen ve have grown. take vhat appeals to us." he spoke almost in a rote way, but it was due to the fact that mahler had never allowed his ambition to roam. it was, then, unheard of that he should speak so.
"perhaps children, if the vinter does not move to break us."