A quick sweep over the lands to ascertain the current status of the various southern packs had prompted unsettled thoughts and irritation, and as she sat upon the shore of the lake that had once belonged to her, stared into the waters her sister's and her protege's barrows stood guard over, she meditated upon this new information. A new pack had risen in the west to control the plains. Arian had moved her pack - again - but her scent was fading from scent markers, overlaid with a new alpha scent. Interesting developments, to be sure, but she would need more information than she could acquire by a mere cursory sniff. Things had changed quickly in the south, and a more thorough reconnaissance would be required. Her annoyance, however, came when she had reached the east to find that the Threar lands were empty and the scent long since gone cold. The stale scents gave no indication that they had moved. They simply... dispersed. They had been a profitable resource, and would be... difficult to replace. Her initial raid had proven that they would be a good source of thralls on subsequent forays, but that was no longer an option. She would need to start fresh. "Ulvene på dette stedet plage meg, søster," she murmured to the still water. Well, her warriors had been idle long enough. It was far past time for them to earn their keep once more. When she returned she would rouse them and see who still remained loyal to Yfir. They would already be down a fighter and healer with Kassander on loan to Abaven, but perhaps they could field a full raiding party without his assistance.

Hiraeth never thought he would see the day when he grew tired of exploring. But without someone beside him, what was the point? He could explore all the places he liked, but if he kept avoiding pack lines, he would never be able to regain that which had been taken from him. The feeling of home and family. The ability to pledge loyalty to a honorable and trustworthy leader. No leaders in this land so far had seemed worthy of his trust. No pack had felt like home. And he was far from regaining that sense of family he had once known. That seemed entirely out of his reach at the moment. Hiraeth was a patient soul, but even he had a breaking point. His annoyance with this place was growing. Was it impossible to find a good leader in these lands? Had no strong, honorable wolves taken a stand and created a pack for the good of the many? As yet, the man had found no answers to his questions. He had traveled through most of the south and had eventually strayed up into the east. There were a great many places he had yet to explore, and he supposed he should finish what he started by seeing what the other regions had to offer. After about a day he came upon a lake, a blessing as far as he was concerned because his mouth was dry and he was in need of a drink. But as Hiraeth padded closer to the water and pressed his way past the thin layer of vegetation, he heard a voice which tugged at his ears. He knew the tongue, though he could not speak much of it himself. Some of the wolves in his youth had spoken it, and the familiarity of the syllables washed over him with a sense of nostalgia. He knew nostalgia was a dangerous thing when your past was all but gone. Still, Hiraeth couldn't fight the feeling of curiosity within him. He wanted to know who the voice belonged to. The large man tried his best to be quiet as he retracted himself from the vegetation and moved closer to the voice. There he saw a woman, slight but strong, with beautiful dark coloring. "Min dame?" he called out to her, effectively using up the last of his Norwegian knowledge. He knew only basic phrases and hoped she wouldn't respond with some complex sentence. "Unnskyld meg," he said, smiling in spite of himself as he probably butchered the pronunciation. "I knew wolves in my youth who spoke in that tongue, though I remember very little of it. May I join you?"

Auora did not answer her words, though she had not expected her to. But an answer there was nonetheless there in the place where the fireflies waited only for dark to fall. A wolf approached, hesitant words in her sister's language tumbling brokenly from his lips, and Katja dipped her head in acknowledgement of the words, though not the content. "Jeg er ingen dame," she returned with small amusement, but did not attempt to continue a conversation further in the language. "These lands are not mine to guard; you may join me if you wish." She tilted her head to the side to regard him, this stranger, a gesture more measuring, with her stillness and her cold, than it was quizzical. "I do not often meet one who speaks the northern languages, however imperfectly."

The woman interested him, the way she held herself was different from others he had met. But then, most of the women he had met in this land had been, frankly, a bit weak and vulnerable. Hiraeth was nothing if not a gentleman, and had treated all of them with uptmost respect. But it was refreshing to see a woman who emanated such experience and strength. He smiled a bit as she answered him, saying he was free to join her if he so wished, and so he settled on his haunches an appropriate distance away. His smile grew more companionable as she spoke again. "Yes, I heard a variety of such languages when I was boy," Hiraeth said. "but my mother spoke to me in cymraeg and it became my first language," he went on, looking over the woman briefly before looking out across the lake. He was quiet for a while, not wanting to pry, but his curiosity soon caused him to look back at this dark woman with the foreign tongue. "Forgive me for asking, but were you once a stranger to this land as well?" It would be nice to know someone who empathized with his situation. However, he knew it may be a long shot.