The casual, almost lackadaisical way in which the stranger responded to his query was even more concerning. Not worried? All Osamu could envision was having to carefully take the long, perilous path all the way down toward the rocky sea, hurriedly scraping wolf remains off the side of the cliff-face as he stuttered his way through an explanation for the Empress.

A swim is... nice, yes, he said slowly. But the odds of cracking something vital and important to me against a rock falling from this point are not promising.

He looked like he swam. Something about the smooth, tapered musculature of his shoulders and strong forelimbs spoke of a wolf well-accustomed to water, so maybe this truly was something of a thrill for the man. Strange hobby all the same, though. Osamu did not care for aquatics; his expertise lay solely on the firm, solid earth. The last few times he'd had to swim against fretful currents he nearly drowned.

Too many legs to coordinate.

Makara. An interesting name; a foreign name, much like the strange word he'd used to refer to Izumi's title of Empress. Whatever language that was, he'd never heard it before.

If the Empress bid you stay, then I have no qualms with your presence, Osamu returned stoically, still trying to understand what this Makara wanted to do with the wolves of Fujiwara - with the way he kept eyeballing the sea nearby, was it simply because they were beachfront property?

What is your place of origin? That word you used earlier - it is unknown to me.