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For Aivar. This is set a few days or so after this thread.

The noon sky was ladden with gray clouds and a bitter straight line wind that cut sharply through the winterscar. Yaalk'ali shook out his coat with a quiver, watching briefly as the caribou moved in search of sanctuary in the forests to the north.

Yaalk'ali touched nose to hard, cold earth, tracking the scent of the man that was Aivar. Yellow eyes searching for a dark splotch in the snowy backdrop that would pair with the trail.

There, in the distance. Yaalk'ali paced after, woofing out only when he drew near enough to share words.

---

I am so sorry this took so long!

A strain against the snow, Aivar was never hard to spot. Slowly, very slowly, he was learning to adapt to this new life, these new ways. More and more often as of late, he found himself thinking of the past, what he missed, what he'd lost. This world was so very different. These people were so very different.

The red and grey fur of one of the caribou hunters he did not know bobbed towards him. Too straight of a line to be doing anything other than directly approaching Aivar, or Dzaan, as was his name here.

Amber eyes narrowed to slits. Suspicious as always, Aivar was unsure how to react. Raised hackles still seemed like the proper reaction, but it wasn't the action he should take towards a pack member. His tail, then, wagged slowly.

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Perfectly fine! Since I'll be slow Jan, feel free to assume in more recent threads that Yaal is insenutating he might take Nutu as a wife. (Purely to rile Aivar.)

Skill: trickster

Yaal'kali was met with a narrowed gaze of suspension, right of him to do so, given the fox hunter's intensions. The Chieftain had a means to ensure Aivar fought for his wants - to be Lanzadoii and given the spoils of choosing a mate among the bands women. Nutu. Yaal'kali was here to see that this want was not given freely, but met with challenge. All the while keeping his brother's paws clean of it.

Winter storms come. He speaks in common, not thinking the foreign man knew much of their tongue just yet. What man could aspire to be Lanzadoii and yet did not speak their language? Pah! Yaal'kali held back the scoff of objection and instead put on his Cheshire cat grin. Ready for march? A simple small talk seemed reasonable. After all, they were of the same band yet had not spoken one on one before today.

Aivar continued to watch the fox-like man with unease. It remained a struggle for him to communicate with these wolves with whom he barely shared a language. Common was broken, but he felt he could mostly understand them. It made for a difficult time when it came to integrating, and while he did his best, culture and language kept him as an outsider.

I'm ready, he answered, though he did not fully understand the march. The concept he understood well enough, but reality, he was sure, was something else entirely.

Asking if Yaalk'ali was ready for the march seemed foolish. Of course a Lanzadoii was ready. It was in their blood. And so he chose a different phrase. I assume you're always ready for the march.

skill: trickster

This is good. Sharp words give back, a click of his tongue at the roof of his mouth as he swept over the young wolf's physique and then to the treeline, the caribou moving in the shadows.

Always. A grin, a sideways glance to the boy. We march with them. Raise pups along calves. Many women come from other bands. Seek husbands. A wink tossed. The start of the Long March meant for much opportunity.

You become Lanzadoii, you choose wife?