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~six months | likely at the base of Giant's Throne, between it and the Singing Hills, but flexible!

The sunlight was getting warmer, and sticking around longer. Fox kits were emerging from their dens, does trailed by wobbly-legged fawns, rabbits hid their squirming, pink young wherever they could to evade the seeking and hungry maw of the boy. Spring had arrived, slow at first but blooming in full now.

Trygve emerged from the copse of trees that clung to the hilly base of the mountainside, brushing past foliage to emerge into the sun-bathed meadow sprawling before him. Hardy wildflowers were blossoming in speckled groups amongst the hastily growing grass swaying in the light breeze. His sense of smell was subpar, but even he could pick up the faint petrichor from the last night's rain, the grass and faint perfume of the flowers, and the dusty feather-smell and coppery tang of the picked-clean grouse carcass abandoned in the grove at the boy's heels.

Akira would not be far, and the wind was quiet enough he could easily hear her call if she could not find him through scent or sight.

He lifted his chin, allowing his gaze to skim across the green-streaked slate of the mountains. The breeze picked up, raking its fingers gently through his silky fur and muttering in the boy's ear before winding away to go bat at the teardrop leaves hanging from the black and white branches of a nearby birch. They had survived. Those first months after the sea had been difficult, his mind more absent than not and Akira working her frail bones perhaps too near to death to try to provide for them both. Then, the worry and heartsick over her lost lover and the continued effort to search for him. Then, the cold had hit.

But they'd survived.

Trygve's belly was full, but his muzzle bloodied and a few stray brown feathers stuck out of his pelt in disarray. The two-toned boy found one of the higher spots on the nearby hilly terrain, a spot where he could see much of the field of flowers before him. He could catch a glimpse of a couple of hares cautiously nibbling grass stalks, but paid them no mind - he had no interest for the moment. The boy circled once atop his perch, then flopped upon it to, cat-like and languid, begin to tidy his ever-rugged pelt. The sun beamed down on him, lulling Trygve into a sense of security, so his attention wandered from keeping track of his surroundings.

SNAGGING SKILL Herbalist 1/5

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cloud lash moved north of the singing hills, her paws brushing through the damp breath of the grass, eyes low and searching. the rain had stirred new life from the earth; she could smell it, rich and green, curling between the hardy shoots and stone-slick moss. her heart beat lightly in her chest, a rhythm in time with the wind.
it was not herbs she found first, but movement — a boy, young still, painted in colors strange to her eye, sprawled atop a low rise like a patch of shadow and sun. he was not sharp with hunger, nor wary with pain, and the peace of the land seemed stitched into him.
cloud lash paused at the meadow’s edge, tail lifting in a slow, eager wag, cautious but kind. she let a small bark carry from her throat — soft, musical, not a shout but a greeting, as the sharadoii might give to distant kin across the valleys.
she stepped forward a pace, head low, paws light over the newborn flowers, her body language open and unthreatening. breath warm against the lingering cool of the rain-damp earth, she pointed to herself with a paw, then gave her name, simple and sure in the common tongue she barely cradled: nuvts’eyaȟa.
cloud lash's river-red gaze stayed wide and unblinking, waiting to see if he would answer, if the boy of sun and shadow would welcome the meeting or turn like mist from stone.

---

He had his tongue between his toes to try to dislodge a troublesome clod of mud, tail curled lazily over his haunch, when the yip fluttered across the meadow. Trygve recognized it immediately as not-Akira, which considering his extremely small social circle, was the only differentiation that mattered in the split-second moments of processing. However, the bark wasn't dissimilar to Akira's - melodic and delicate, not the booming boof of an incoming ambush of some sort. He managed not to startle, but did haul himself to his paws almost without thought.

The woman was waifish and clad in mist, with a pair of striking ruby eyes. He paid little attention to what she looked like, beyond her build - not much of a threat, except for the way everything was a bit of a threat - and her tail swung loose and friendly behind her. That finally made Trygve lower his own hackles, tilting his head at her with a querying and rather suspicious squint. What do you want, he might've gotten around to asking, not meaning to come across rude but finding it to be his default even after observing Akira's much gentler demeanor countless times by now.

Instead, the young woman pointed to herself and enunciated confidently a series of wholly foreign syllables. The stranger did not press for Trygve to respond immediately, nor did she intrude upon his space, so he took a breath or two to process everything. She seemed to be alone, and he was most certainly still alone - aside from the stranger, who seemed to be introducing herself.

The boy's expression smoothed, a glimmer of sharp-eyed curiosity in his eye. Nuvts’eyaȟa. He repeated. I'm Trygve. He brought his own paw to his chest, then glanced down to see a feather sticking out from it. His ears flattened sheepishly, and he made an effort to brush the feather away, glancing up at the woman. You live around here?

the boy spoke, and cloud lash’s ears lifted, a quiet, blossoming light blooming in her chest at the sound. he had understood her — or enough of her — and the strange word he offered in return felt careful and honest in the air between them. trygve, she repeated softly, tasting it like a river pebble against her tongue, worn smooth by use.
he asked her something next — the words coming quick, not all of them known to her — but she caught enough. live? here?
cloud lash smiled, shy and warm, her red eyes softening. she pointed south, to where the valley cradled the singing hills in its arms, where the grasses bent in slow dances to the breath of skedzay. she tapped her paw lightly against the earth and then curved it in a slow sweep toward the distant lowlands, letting the shape of the land speak for her when words still stumbled.
there, she said in her halting voice, her tail giving a soft wag, uncertain but hopeful. south. hills...home.
she watched him carefully after that, the way a sparrow watches a new branch — alert, but unafraid — waiting to see if this boy of many colors would understand.

---

Introductions went smoothly, although he hadn't been particularly concerned. The mist-woman seemed gentle of spirit like Akira, and that more than any name or other small talk put Trygve somewhat at ease. She smiled at him warmly in response to his query, which only prompted a slight lift of the boy's brow. He was used to this treatment from his companion, but not strangers. It was...not unwelcome, but made him feel a little suspicious.

Nuvts’eyaȟa's attention turned to explaining where she was from, which turned out to be a description via charades and heavily-accented, stilted words. Trygve watched her movements with rapt attention, and tilted his head slightly in response to the sound of the woman's voice. She seemed friendly, even excited to try to chat, despite the obvious obstacles. I see. We haven't been that far south yet. He sounded a little hopeful, maybe expectant - he didn't think there was any reason they wouldn't keep meandering south.

He frowned slightly; puzzling over a thought. Uh...I guess you don't speak much Common? He didn't bother with beating around the bush or sparing her feelings over it. He was twice her size, but the boy knew he was half the wolf his companion was. He tilted his head again, maw parting slightly as something he knew but didn't know settled itself on the tip of his tongue.

Jeg snakker litt norsk. The words spilled free before he could think, the sweet cadence of his mother-tongue hitting the air like a jay's croaking alarm-call. Static buzzed at the edges of the boy's mind, things better left buried surfacing in incomplete shards that were bitter with rot.

cloud lash blinked up at him, unsure if it was the tone or the words that made her ears lift and her breath catch. his first question— the one in common— she understood well enough. she gave a small shake of her head, slow and apologetic, her smile sheepish but unashamed.
no… speak little, she murmured, carefully, like each word was a stone she had to pick up with her teeth and place just so.
but then came the second voice— his voice, but different. the sounds curled strange and lovely in her ears, sharp and rich, like cold rivers sliding over mountain stones. her eyes widened slightly, and she tilted her head, the way pups do when they’re hearing music for the first time. she didn’t know the meaning, not even close, but it pulled at her all the same— the feeling of it.
softly, she stepped closer, as if by standing nearer she might somehow gather the meaning from the air between them. not that, she said gently, tapping her chest with one paw, then shaking her head again.
then, quieter, she smiled up at him, voice barely above a breeze: but… sound nice. her tail gave a low wag behind her.
she liked that he tried. she liked it a lot.

---

The words had slipped free of him cleanly, like water trickling free from a crack in ice. It felt almost like lancing a wound, at first: bright, clear. But the moments that followed, the half-shaped memories that welled up along with his native tongue, made Trygve's mouth buzz as though he'd chewed on pine needles and his head try to empty itself like an overturned cup.

The boy was well-used to his episodes, now. He considered trying to excuse himself, or simply let the emptiness wash over his consciousness and hope it wasn't too obvious. But he instead warred against it, focusing on the here and now with a deep breath to remind him of the scents that surrounded himself. Nuvts’eyaȟa was speaking once more, each word shaped and placed into the air with an artisan's care and craft. That was more than enough to bring Trygve's awareness back, the glazed-over look in his eyes fading as he pricked his ears to catch every word and the motions to substitute what her vocabulary lacked. He wished he knew at least a few words in her own tongue, to bridge the gap back the other direction rather than relying on the wisp-woman to make all of the connections necessary.

She said it sounded nice, and stepped closer. The boy allowed her into his space without flinch or comment - she wasn't going to hurt him. No-one could. Trygve huffed sheepishly, before aiming a surly look at the ground. Thanks. He replied, his soft voice at odds with his demeanor. He glanced back up. Yours - uh.... He only knew the one word - the mist-wolf's name. Yours is nice, too, I'm sure. If you...wanted to share. He offered awkwardly, warring with his rather obvious interest in learning more with an effort to remain cool and unaffected.

cloud lash nodded, her ears tipping back, then forward again.
thank you, she murmured, the words awkward in her mouth—but careful. meant. her voice was windblown and soft, quieter than his, like she wasn’t used to speaking the common tongue.
she didn’t answer his offer right away. instead, her eyes flicked to his chest, where breath rose and fell, and then up again to meet his gaze. a pause. then, slowly, she said, cloud lash.
the syllables had a certain rhythm when she spoke them—somewhere between breath and birdsong. but she was watching him now, attempting at what most called, 'common'. then, in her own tongue she pointed to a small bundle of herbs, herbs, she says.

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She was as quiet as the sigh of the breeze winding through the wildflowers. Trygve did not pressure her to speak louder, only pressed his ears forward with interest. The field was quiet except for the distant warble of some kind of oriole and the frolicking wind. He usually preferred the frigid cold to keep him alert and grounded, but the sunlight pouring down his forehead and spine only made him feel more pleasant than usual, the earth under his paws more distinct, not hazy and distant as he so often did.

Cloud Lash, she said. He tilted his head, a crease forming between his brows, before he realized this was the lesson he'd asked for. Trygve hummed thoughtfully under his breath, glancing between the woman's pale coat and wispy features, then to the clouds swirled against the wide blue sky above. Sure, he could see it.

Nuvts’eyaȟa. He echoed. Cloud Lash.

Another word spilled past her lips, that same lilting tongue she'd been born to. Trygve promptly butchered the word, with a quiet enthusiasm. It meant the bundle of plants she'd pointed to, and he thought that would surely be useful. Knowing the word to ask for medicine in many languages was a skill he should pursue more. He tried the word again, after offering Nuvts’eyaȟa an apologetic dip of his chin.

she smiled gently as he tried, even as the word wobbled beneath his tongue. there was no shame in it— not here. not with her. his effort warmed her more than any proper pronunciation ever could.
cloud lash turned back to her cache, pawing carefully through the bundles of dried greens and twisted stems. she found the one she'd looked for, holding it aloft between her teeth before setting it on the earth between them. soft, yellow-tipped leaves and a whisper of mint— good for breath, for calming the stomach.
sápai. she murmured again, pressing a paw lightly to the bundle, then to her chest. medicine.
her eyes flicked up to meet his. patient. bright.
for you, she offered, voice hushed and shy. you try?