Enrico had crossed the sand bridge back to the northern continent in pursuit of the prey he had severely injured only to have it escape. Rather than waste the effort when the beast was clearly going to die from its wounds, he'd followed the blood-trail of the fleeing dik-dik north. White-rimmed ears rotated, gaze roamed and nose twitched constantly, the male wary of being taken unaware by enemies he knew quite well were firmly ensconced in these northern lands.

It had been in the north that he had found Vittore, and though the smart thing to do when he'd come nose-to-nose with Basileus' brother would have been to kill him, he had proven too soft to do so and Vittore had no doubt spread the word among whichever members of the cosca had survived. Unfortunately it seemed Enrico's love and loyalty still lay with the red brothers, for good or ill. As he could not trust himself not to hesitate if it came down to killing one of his former brothers, he was a fool to set paw upon Boreas.

Well, if he was a fool, he was a half-starved one. He could not afford to have wasted the energy of tackling that little deer-creature and he could not continue to survive on rats alone. He didn't want to just survive anymore; he wanted to thrive. To thrive, perhaps he must buck caution this once. So, knowing he was a fool, knowing he must go anyway, he trailed behind the dying prey as it scrambled along the slope.

He felt like wandering more often than he usually did, the sight of the rapids bringing back the memory of his friends death. So instead he headed south, in search for better game to keep them all full during this harsh season. His nose was to the ground, sniffing out anything that he could track down and call for a few members to come and help him take it down. They could eat there before dragging the leftovers home, otherwise it would be too difficult to drag all that way. His joints were a tad stiff in the cold of the winter, but they didn't tend to bother him too much. Just made it harder to take off at a moments notice, he wasn't a spring chicken anymore. A slow, sad smile formed on his mouth as he lifted his head, scanning the horizon to see if he could spot the silhouette of any type of prey. Nope, nothing. Letting out a sigh, he moved on and headed for higher grounds. He had seen the soft incline on his way over, and a good vantage point would help him spot his quarry.

Setting his mind to tasks like these helped keep the more somber emotions away. He needed to just move on and grieve as well as run a pack. As much as he wanted to sit and just mope, he couldn't do that, not when so many depended on him. Making his way towards the hill, he saw that another man was in front of him. Looking down he saw the tracks of a small animal, but it was nothing that he knew by scent. Tilting his head, he followed along at a bit of a distance, respectful of the hunting stranger. He wouldn't want to startle his prey away, not when he knew how hard to come by it was. If he looked back, he would offer him a smile and a dip of his head. He wasn't here to steal his prey, nor was he seeking to do him any harm. Bass simply wanted to get up the slope and see what was around them.

""

His prey was drawing close to its end. The track was slower, the marks closer together and meandering. Blood smeared the vegetation as the creature moved heavily through it. Enrico's eyes narrowed in anticipation.

The soft sound of pawsteps behind him put his hackles up as the dove-gray male spun in place on the narrow trail instinctively. He forced himself to smooth the snarl from his face, ashamed that his instinctive reaction would now be one of fear. He had sworn to himself that he would not live like an animal any longer, yet his first reaction was that of a hunted rat.

He closed glacial eyes for the briefest of moments, gathering his dignity about him with a deep calming breath before he opened them upon the creature who dogged his footsteps.

The male was a little taller than he, a pale white with minimal brown markings, and golden eyes. Certainly no one he recognized, and the man's smile and his nod seemed friendly enough, though that did not preclude him being an enemy. Still, it would not do to be impolite.

Enrico inclined his head courteously in return, and indicated the blood trail with a tilt of his muzzle. "You are... welcomed... to be joining me, if you be wishing... a hunt... a... meal," he invited slowly, cursing that he had so little practice with this unfamiliar language.

Bass was surprised to see the male's hostile greeting, but in a blink of an eye he composed himself. A single brow rose, though he did not question his approach. Perhaps he was hiding from someone, or he was simply started by his quiet approach. He had scented the blood in the air, but he wasn't here to steal the strangers meal. Food was hard to come by these days, he had no intentions of taking the opportunity from him. Eying the slightly smaller male with curiosity in his golden stare, his ears flickered at the stuttered words that left his lips. It wasn't hard at all for him to hear the accent thick in his vocals, it was one that he knew well. Blinking in surprise, his chin tipped towards his chest as he cleared his throat slightly. He was out of practice, it had been awhile since he had run into anyone besides his kids that spoke Italian. But he was well versed in the language, it just took him a moment to find his own. "Tu parli italiano?" he asked with slight hesitation. The pale man was sure that he had heard the correct accent, but there was always room for error.

Going with it, he shook his head slightly when the stranger offered him to share in his meal. "Il cibo è troppo scarsa per me di prendere qualcosa da voi, ma posso aiutare a caccia, se lo si desidera. Sono appena uscito per cercare di individuare un branco di grandi erbivori." The Italian flew from his tongue with ease, the rust knocking off with his first question. It really had been awhile, and being able to speak it again brought a smile to his face. "I'm Bass Destruction," he said in English, introducing himself in the more common tongue here before moving on in Italian. "E 'un piacere di parlare in questo modo ancora una volta, sono sicuro che si sente lo stesso. Sembra che non si è raccolto sulla lingua comune, ancora del tutto, avete bisogno di assistenza in questo?" Bass had no qualms with teaching the stranger, he would be better off if he was more well versed anyways. Not many wolves here spoke Italian, in fact he had only met one other wolf.

"" -- "Italian"

The stranger's figuratively and literally pricked up at Enrico's words, and he replied with a question in a language that was simultaneously soothing and terrifying to hear.

Italian.

Enrico's native language, the language of his birth and childhood and years as a mafioso. The sooty-gray male's pelt immediately rippled at the sound, his eyes going hard and wary. The only wolves he could absolutely know in these lands who spoke Italian were men of honor, and men of honor were, with a price on his head... immediately suspect. But as the male continued it became obvious to Enrico that the male was no native speaker, though he was certainly fluent. There was a certain undefinable something in the words of someone who had spoken a language regularly since childhood, and this male clearly had not. It made him safer, but not... safe.

Oh, but to hear Italian again.

"Il cibo è molto più comune nel sud di qui. Mi può risparmiare qualcosa per un viaggiatore affamato, e sarebbe bello condividere un pasto con qualcuno che conosce la mia lingua nativa." He spoke the language cautiously, but to feel them roll off his tongue bathed him in pleasure. To so long be silent or to struggle through speaking a clunky, ugly, unfamiliar language... To speak his birth tongue again was heaven.

He eyed the other male, suspicion unabated. He did not want to turn to follow the dik-dik and have a stranger at his back. To be so vulnerable after having revealed one of the very parts of him that his former brothers knew set him apart as a stranger in this land would be unacceptable. Instead he carefully stepped aside, and made a gesture to the blood-scent trail the dying creature had left. "Si prega, dopo di te. Il percorso dovrebbe portare bene." He hesitated, manners warring with caution a moment as it was rude to avoid giving a name to someone you were becoming acquainted with. He settled for a pseudonym. "Sto chiamato Mask. Quello che ti posso chiamare?"