Since entering this land, Ootat had discovered a kind of fear. Not the fear that usually held her hand, whispering wise warnings and drawing her away from danger, no... this was a brand of fear for which there was no name, a fear she had yet to properly meet. But it was there, a bud of darkness lurking in the dungeons of her mind, twisting with every step, feeding on every shadow that might be something more. Days were becoming harder, a nights rest was not so much restful anymore as a wakeful nightmare. Ootat was afraid and she was slowly coming to terms with that, very slowly. Even alone the she-wolf was wan to admit such fallacy's in herself, a character that she had spent the last year and a half of her life building in an effort to become better. Here though, amongst the ice and snow it was incredibly difficult to be anything short of terrified. To be honest it was beautiful, white and slick, opalescent in the right kind of sunlight, but for the most part scary. The land was dangerously flat, telling the tales of creatures that might have attempted to walk a distance, seducing its prey with the sore lack of life. And hope she would wonder as deep yellow eyes gazed long and hard across the flawless surface, imagination trying to come up with some plausible birth for such a place. Not too far to her right was a monolith of carved ice, breaking up through the surface and coming to a head far up toward the sky. Wind buffeted the fragile foundation, crying out like a jealous lover as it hit the pearly face and whistled past. Ootat was awed and more so frightened, what in this world could have created something like that? This bizarre archway of ice and damnation? Leaning, weary under years of hardship. Do not think that the angry spires had been missed either, for they were the first obstruction she noticed upon stepping foot into this hell. She had not stayed to wonder where they might have come from, or more, what felt the need to make them. Anything so sharp and mangled had no good consequences for those who got to close, even the bases were grown with thorns. If she was wise she would turn back and forget about such a place, closing this portal of experience and sealing it shut. Instead, heavy paws found their way into a trot, bringing her closer to the archway and farther from the violent glaciers. Terror gripped her chest and the hair along her spine was stiff with discomfort. Turn back! Turn back! every sense in her body screamed, warning flags flaring and breath coming in sharp bursts, a testament to her true feelings. Yet onward she plowed, head low against the bitter wind and icy shrapnel that ripped into the layers of her coat. Open to any!

The boy - man, really - was quite torn, alone, and saddened. Once again, he lost contact with his brother. Were there any alive except them? But of course, Enrico was alive. Maybe. After that one faithful encounter, he had not encountered the man again, and even now Vittore questioned his actions on that day. It didn't matter why. That was what allowed Enrico to escape, his questioning, his foolish behavior. What was done was done, however, and he couldn't precisely change that. If he could... if he could change the past, he'd change what Enrico did to the i Fratelli Rossi, remove whatever temptation struck him to betray the the sacred oath, the Omertà.

Annoyance flashed in his eyes at his thoughts - what was he, some weak man? He was certainly acting like it, with all this moping he was doing. All this regret. What was done was done and nothing could or would change it; why couldn't he just accept that already? Truly, he already had in his mind, but his heart still had troubles accepting the truth. Accepting that the cosca was gone, that their brothers were dead. It just... he felt so lost without the cosca. His life had revolved around it; where was he now that it was gone?

Well, apparently in a land that was freezing the fur right off his ass. Snorting, he gingerly stepped across the snow. Scratch that, not just his butt was freezing, but everything else as well. It was cold here, that was for certain. It was certainly more so than he ever expected to see in his life. While it snowed where he used to live... certainly... not this amount. His land was not a desolate tundra which had ice jutting up from the depths. Nope, it was a nice, green land that got covered in white on occasion.

Still, it was stunning. The mafioso could more than appreciate the cold, stark beauty of the ice darting into the sky, overlooking the ocean. It was peaceful, as well, though tough to survive - he would travel to more populated and hospital areas soon. This was only a sight-seeing trip, to see all these wondrous lands the best he could. Why? What else did he have to do?

Regardless, he was not expecting company. When the crunch of ice behind him sounded, he turned his head, blinking in surprise at the female that was trudging through the land. "Perdere? Stai bene?" he questioned, his deep baritone unaffected by the long days of silence he had held. What was a woman doing so far out into this cold? Was she alright?

"Speech" Italiano

Her thoughts were her own, rattling about in the back of her skull as dark eyes narrowed at shapes beyond the archway. There was no telling for sure what it might have been, but the occasional ripple against the ice made her think there could be water in that direction. Water? Out here in the cold boonies of the North where nothing survived. It was a laughable thought, but becoming more palpable with every step she took, paws tired and pads torn against the sharp, icy floor. 'Perdere? Stai bene?' Ootat moved so quickly she put her balance off, stumbling against the wind and back-pedaling. What!? instinct demanded attention and she was very close to giving in, but upon closer observation she discovered the source of the disturbance. A wolf, a rather large and stocky wolf who looked to be faring much better than she against the raging torrent. Ootat eyed him up and down, taking in as much detail as she could from as little as she knew. His scent was blown in the opposite direction, making it even more difficult to get an accurate reading. All she had was his strange, lilting accent and the gentle cock of his head to go by. Surely any creature that could not have the courtesy to speak the common tongue was not to be trusted? Her mind crooned, lips tightening as her muscles slowly contracted, re-adjusting to the temperature. Perhaps... or maybe he was in the same boat she was, wandering this place out of hopeless curiosity with the idea of proving nature wrong. In that case, he was definitely no smarter. It was a slow process for the adrenaline to drain out of her legs and the sleek length of her body to unwind, but in the end she stood tall and unmoved. "I am afraid.." she began, "that I do not understand."

He startled the woman. he knew the winds were loud, and that his approach would be muffled, but surely she would at least scent his approach? The wind was blowing at his face, thus blwoing his scent away, but he had been more than close enough for her to scent him regardless. It was a gross lack of awareness, and Vittore frowned. It was in that moment, though, that moment when he spotted the confusion on her face. Dannazione! He forgot that... that this was not home, that his language was something few understood. He'd only encountered one who had, a boy named Starling who was a sweet and gentle little thing. He sighed softly. So, he'd have to communicate purely through body language - that was no problem, but truly he desired for someone to know his language. Not that... he needed to repeat the question. Her body language made her stance quite clear, and he eyed the form of the wolf warily. He kept his own body stiff and ready to fight; his ears were pricked, and his tail hung loosely behind him. He had no desire to fight a woman, let alone in this environment, but he'd do what he must if the creature attacked him. Instead, he sighed heavily. "I not speak Common," he tried to get out, the words heavily accented absolutely grammatically incorrect. His lack of the language frustrated him, but he had not found Starling again for the boy to teach him as was promised.

"Speech" Italiano

"Oh..." Ootat did not move, even as he explained - very badly mind you - that he did not speak the common tongue. Suddenly she felt the soft tinges of humility creep up her neck, filling the base of her jaw with heat. In her moment of shame she lowered her guard, ears swinging low and tail sweeping in vague irritation. Just not with him. "Then, hello, I am Ootat. You?" She could stand there being childish or try to find a way to communicate. He claimed not to speak the language well, but he could understand it yes? His responses so far had been largely physical, keeping himself blessedly neutral despite her misgivings. This situation could go one of two ways, good or bad. Most times her mind was quick to imagine every negative scenario possible. This large creature could easily over-power her, easily being an understatement. She was not particularly small, but compared to his muscle growth she was lean and wiry. Just a pawn to his King. Ootat swallowed and stepped to the side, large paws crunching into the freshly fallen snow. The intent was more to show acceptance of his presence than any fear she may have actually felt, the she-wolf lifted dark ears and honey-mustard eyes watched him curiously. The wind berated the wolves and seemed to slice through the long fur of her spine and sides, offering no respite from the cold. A soft and haunting song lilted across the empty plains, spun from the arch as it groaned beneath the endless assault of the wind. Sharp and angry, whistling around them in every attempt to push them over the edge.

Well, she certainly hadn't been expecting his response, that much was clear. When she understood him, her posture immediately dropped into that of someone who was ashamed, and his head inclined to show all was forgiven and acceptable. It was fine that there was a miscommunication there; he suspected this interaction would be full of it. Either way, she introduced herself - something he understood, because every other wolf had greeted him in such a way. "Buongiorno," he greeted, an amused smile appearing on his face. "Mi chiamo Vittore Scarlatti." He chuckled, knowing that she would likely puzzle out the meaning of her words, much like he did with hers. He turned back to the gorgeous, icy land, inclining his head towards it. "Bellissima, sì?" His tone conveyed much of what his words meant, the appreciation and awe in his eyes for the land clear. Ahh, this land was so gorgeous, though the icy cut of the wind drove him to be glad that this is not where he lived. He'd not want to live in this place, though he could always appreciate the beauty in it.

"Speech" Italiano