The Sentinels same old lessons

Truthfully, Ygdris couldn't remember the last time she'd stopped moving  for longer than a few days. Since she had left her mother and brothers to go her own way, she had wandered damn near ceaselessly for nigh on 13 months. To say her paws ached and her muscles screamed was an understatement of epic proportions. By the time she came to wander through the dense graveyard of ash and felled wood, she could hardly stand except by sheer force of will. Her tongue lolled lazily outside her open mouth as she came to a halt at what appeared to be the old forests edge. She sank heavily onto her haunches first, then her belly, and finally onto her side in the crook of one of the fallen sentinels. perhaps... I'll just rest my eyes a spell....

@Kjalarr

kjalarr keeps a firm eye on the herds that dwelled within the sentinels; though over the months he's been watching them they do not seem very eager to move on from their chosen roaming grounds. good news, for the fledgling stavanger bay; even if their prospects were yet far from flourishing. kjalarr considers that perhaps it is the shift in the air: that spring harbors within it too much competition and bountiful prey. the need for a pack was not quite as strong as it was in the withering hours of winter.

the scent of a stranger wafts his way; altering the northman's path. it does not take him long to find the piebald pelage that reminds him of his brother, charon.

a soft chuff leaves kjalarr's lips: seeking to alert the woman, whom appears to be slumbering, of his presence.

An exhaling of air alerted her to the presence of another, and Ygdris exploded back to her feet in an altogether unbecoming splay of limbs. She whirled to face the stranger, her eyes alight with shock at having been disturbed so suddenly after drifting off to sleep, and fixed her face with her signature scowl. "What's so funny, chump?" she growled, annoyance etched into every syllable as if it could make up for her... rather embarrassing first impression. 

The stranger had a bearing about him that suggested he was somebody important - or at least that he believed himself to be. Ygdris let her bicolor gaze flick over the man's scarred form and she quicker one eyebrow as her eyes met his unwavering once more. "What'd'ya want, anyway?"

she spins to face him with unbridled fury, her question rough and demanding. kjalarr's ears flutter back, cerulean gaze rapidly taking her in to decide if he was in immediate danger of being attacked or not. i wasn't laughing. kjalarr replies simply; calmly. she certiantly had the temperment to match his brother, if memory served him correct. there are safer places to slumber, the northman speaks. perhaps places that are not where my bay's herd likes to dwell.

The man was the very picture of calm and control - the polar opposite of herself, in most ways. He answered her rather matter of factly, and she couldn't help the sharp, barking laugh that loosed from her chest. "Yeah, so I didn't pick the best of places to sleep... But what d'ya mean by your bay?" Ygdris sneered, looking him over with a critical eye. If she'd had a conscience to listen to, it might have told her she was lucky the ass beatings had been so few and far between thus far in her life...

(Sorry for the long delay! @Kjalarr)

no worries! <3

kjalarr's patience was hard won; costing him many of the scars that liter his body. in his youth: he would've rushed her with hackles raised and teeth bared. while he was prickly over the neighboring territories of stavanger bay — old instincts died hard — he was old enough to know better and more than old enough to know when to pick his battles. he wasn't the young gun he'd been. he was entering into his patriarchal days ( or, perhaps had entered? ) and the dusk of his life. petty battles were left for the young and their lessons to be learnt.

my bay, kjalarr explains with patience. stavanger bay. he gestures towards it with a motion of his scarred muzzle. it is where my clan has built it's home.