Aivar :3

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Skill - Warrior (for swooping)

AAA-AA-AA-AA!

Hurry! Hurry!

Ko-Ga circled Nate-Dog and rushed ahead, only to soon grow frustrated by his flockmate's slow pace and circle back again, urging him onward with swoops and cries.

Nate-Dog loped after, tongue lolling and leaving smoke on the frigid air behind it. If only he had been born with wings!

Skill - Ranger

Nate was pretty sure the only thing Ko-Ga wanted was to lead him to something to eat. Still learning to use a wolf's nose, he'd at least worked out the basics of turning it windward to gauge direction. And it was still a sensory overload, but blood had a kind of tint to it. The closer they got, the brighter it bloomed on the whipping crosshatch of invisible currents.

And Nate wasn't hungry.

But he was also getting tired of being bombarded by his pet-turned-self-appointed-nanny. So he followed, head low to avoid the pinching beak of Ko-Ga's impatience.

Gr-aaack!, in the distance.

Nate stopped short, ears swiveling forward. That wasn't his bird.

Ko-Ga cawed answer from on the wing.

Gra-a-ck!, weaker.

Blood and a raven. Sounded kind of ominous, but Nate realized now it probably wasn't dinner Ko-Ga wanted at all. It was help.

Well you could have said something sooner!, he called, and got back what he assumed to be corvid-profanity as they set off at pace for the sound again.

The scent of blood drew Aivar before the sound. The croaking noise of a raven made his lips curl. He didn't often eat, or even attempt to eat ravens. They were too much effort, and Aivar didn't think that they were particularly appetizing. Still, he stalked low, though not as low as a wolf with four good legs. He could put the creature out of his misery. Maybe the weasels could pick their teeth with its bones.

He froze, a stranger's scent hit him on a breeze. Teeth glinted and hackles rose. He turned his focus onto the wolf. The bird could wait.

He was aware of a loud crow, as well, but dismissed it.

He stood straight, prowled forward on stiff legs, and found this stranger also investigating the ravenblood on the wind.

“What are you nosing about for, hm?” Aivar demanded as he came upon the stranger. His tail was rigid and raised, though he had the decency to lower his lips so only the tips of his fangs showed as he spoke.

Scrounger, he thought contemptuously, as if he hadn't been in a similar position not so long ago.

Stopping short to the sound of approach, Nate held his ground at the appearance of a newcomer.

He'd heard the tone of voice, Before. Plenty of times. Stranger in town, mixed-blood plain on his features, and even pa's blue eyes wouldn't save Nate the treatment of a stray.

Mithwyth had warned him to be careful around other wolves' claims, and he supposed it would be too much to hope that a change in shape would preclude the violence of prejudice.

An ear flicked back. But there was still time to try at kindness. So Nate smiled warmly, instead, Come now, brother, being curious is no crime, is it? A tilt of the head, noticing the crudely healed wound but making no particular show of doing so. Nate Ronan, at your service. I smelled the blood, worried someone needed help.

Still those pale eyes didn't waver in meeting gaze — a sort of quiet challenge echoed back, even without a growl to answer. Nate wasn't afraid, whether or not others would say he ought to be. After dying once already, it sort of took the uncertainty out of things.

“It might be,” Aivar said with a cold, mirthless smile. “And I'm not your brother,” he added, lifting his head. Figure of speech or no, no stranger was going to be using such a familiar term with him. It reminded him too much of Aryn, and the memory was an antler tine to the heart.

“You smelled blood huh? Do you make a habit of patching up injured birds then?” The stormcoat cocked a brow. He was giving this stranger the benefit of the doubt, because the way he worded it, it sounded an awful lot like he didn't know what kind of blood it was. And maybe he didn't. Maybe his nose was broken, or maybe he really was some avian medic.

“You can call me Aivar, Nate Ronan,” he said with a sniff.