"Pokazhi mne put' domoy. YA ustal i khochu lech' spat'. YA nemnogo vypil okolo chasa nazad, i eto doshlo do moyey golovy. Gde by ya ni brodil." A big, redwood and charcoal man lay in the entrance of the underground lava pit. He'd ventured inside a little bit, but had come back out. It was just too hot for him. Here, however, it wasn't so hot that he was uncomfortable, but it wasn't so cold that he was freezing. Sparhawk was the perfect temperature. Besides... it wasn't a safe place to explore while inebriated. Stretched out in the snow "Na sushe ili more ili pene.Vy vsegda mozhete uslyshat', kak ya poyu etu pesnyu.Pokazhi mne put' domoy." With a flask in one paw, the plus sized brute sprawled, legs stretched out behind him. He sang in a deep timbre and had a rather good voice if he did say so himself. Periodically he would stop, take a deep draw of the mead in his flask, then continue with his song. Sparhawk had had enough of the cold for a while. Yes, he was from the farthest reaches of the north. A place where snow was on the ground year round. Even arctic wolves needed to thaw out every now and again. He had followed the scent of sulfur and, much to his delight, had felt the warmth of the earth beneath his paws. Now, laying in the center of the pathway that stretched downward, Sparhawk was quite content to rest, drink himself silly and sing. And he didn't care who was listening. "Speech"

The small viper’s head rose, the forked tongue of Sawyer snaking out as he looked curiously at Amelia. She looked back at him, and shrugged. The pair heard the singing from what seemed like a mile away, but she was intrigued.
”Come now, Sawyer. Why don’t we go see who’s making such a ruckus?”
Her pygmy rattlesnake then slithered down to one of her slender limbs, coiling around it with his head just able to poke out and see the world as she walked toward the singing. It was in a different language, something she hadn’t heard before, and it drew her in with a mischievous glint in her dark eyes.

As she neared, she noticed a large brute - much larger than she. His coloring was mostly dark, with hints of a deep, rich, red color. The singing came right from his gut, though however slurred and drunken it may be. She let a warm smile caress her features as the serpent slunk forth, moving in an attempted quietness in order to remain undetected until she spoke. She wasn’t sure if she’d be successful or not, but came to a poised sitting position a small distance from him. A cream bottomed tail curled around her folded limbs as Sawyer watched him with his tiny, beady eyes. His tongue flicked out in order to sense and smell the man, taking him in just as much as Amelia began to. The tip of her tail wagged up and down in a rhythm, going along with his tune.
”My, my. Such a lovely language. Do you sing often, sir?”
Her eyes never did waver from him, as she watched, listened, and waited with the patience of a snake.

By the time the woman found him Sparhawk was quite deep in his cups. He still carried himself well, being a seasoned pro and all. He hadn't heard or seen her approach, however and when she spoke, he merely tilted his head to the side to get a good view. She was a pretty thing made of russet and cream. He appreciated the view. If he kept drinking, he'd be able to see more than one of her.

Shifting from his position, Sparhawk turned to face the lady that had approached him. Her question brought a nod of his big skull. "Always singink. Good for soul." Once upon a time he had been a bad man. An angry man. Now he tried his best to be happy and upbeat to make up for lost time. "And who are you, miss? You sing?" There had been a woman recently that had joined in his song. He'd found it quite charming. Lifting the skin of homemade mead, he brought it to blackened lips and took a long pull before holding it out to offer some to the red lady.

The man’s accent was peculiar indeed. Something she had never heard before. Cream tipped ears pushed toward him as he spoke.
”Always singink. Good for soul. And who are you, miss? You sing?”
He took a long drink from his flask, then offered her some. Sawyer flinched, his tail rattling a small bit, as he observed the item in full. His tongue flickered out as he sensed the foreign object. Before she would answer him, she took a taste of the substance. A small sip, and as the harshness of it hit her tongue, she giggled. Sawyer’s beady eye’s looked from the flask to her, then back at the large man.
”Why, I don’t fancy myself a professional. But I enjoy singing.”
Her melodic voice was singsong while she merely spoke, and while it was her vanished family that urged her to sing more, she hadn’t sang in quite some time. Not because it was too hard for her emotionally, as it was her beloved father who cared for her voice the most - no. It was simply because the viper did not usually keep her audience for long.
”I am Amelia, and this is Sawyer, good sir. And what is your name?”
She gestured to her Pygmy snake as she addressed him, the creature then following suit with a polite nod and a shake of his noisy tail.

The woman confessed that she liked to sing and Sparhawk released a barking laugh. "Ha! I can aaaaalways tell." The man tapped his nose with one toe. "You drink. We singing." When she took the flask and sipped from it, he heard the rattle. Lowering his head, he looked the little snake in the eye before sitting tall and chuckling again. "When I was boy, the hunters of the pack find sleeping snakes in the snow. Bring back rattles for babies." The red and charcoal brute gave his head a shake. "Sorry, scaley. Is bad story for you, but they faaaaar away from here." Truly, his family was long, long behind him. The farthest reaches of the north and farther still.

Amelia was her name and she gave the name of the snake as well. Sparhawk dipped his head to both of them. "Is good to meet you both." He raised a wide paw to touch his chest right over his heart. A gesture of sincerity. After that, he took the flask back and took another draw from it. "Ahhh... Am Sparhawk." He tapped his barrel like chest again before handing the flask over to Amelia again. "Strange place for anyone to be. Why you here, 'Melia?" The A in her name was too difficult for the Russian speaking man to say every time.