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Early still, the pale Ijiraq roamed a wooded copse low on the mountain. The air bit with a damp chill, one unmistakably made from winter, thick with a fog that she doubted would clear much come afternoon if Morðfjall held true to its normal. But, only time would tell for sure.

Her meander stopped when she heard something rustling over the underbrush--sounding like something moving quickly, too, and getting louder--closer. She couldn't see far ahead of herself into the fog, but tried anyway by following the noise. Tense with anticipation, she finally held her breath.

Through the trees near, a young doe deer came darting by, oblivious to the pale wolf in the wood and doing all she could just to run. Though only a glimpse of her was to be seen, at such a determined speed, Irura immediately suspected flight. It was much too fast for her to take on solo, so suddenly, and hugely unprepared. She was surprised, too. Though it did lead her to the next question: what was chasing her? That was no run-of-the-mill startle, even for a flighty deer. There was surely some cause, right? Her ears pinned back, listening to the sounds get smaller into the morning's fog. She didn't hear any wolves chasing it.. at least not this close. Hopefully this was not a packmate's runaway hunt.

Perhaps it was from a greedy, rowdy buck? Or another hungrier predator? Given the season and where they were, it seemed near a tossup. Questioning for any sign of this, Irura sniffed the winds. There was a chance the mountain would end that poor doe's rushing somewhere ahead, a drop-off unseen or likewise, and they would have an easy catch that way. Small, but she wouldn't discredit it in visibility this poor.

Now, stepping onward with a squint, she keyed up her own alert to potentially find out what followed. Just in case.

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being vague on timing

While the coal and grey woman wasn't chasing the creature, she had been tracking it for some time. Always, it danced so near the borders of the mountain pack. So close did those hooves dances alight with the fire of life. If it had crossed over in to the lands of the wolves who called the peak home, the sjáanda (seer) would have ceased in her self-assigned task.

But it had not, so she had not.

Eventually, the ungulate must have figured out that the elder wolf was still following them and so gave up on their search for food, instead taking their chances to dart past another wolf.

So then, was it fate that brough the two of them together?

“I mean no harm.”

Her voice preceded her, calling out to the wolf she could smell ahead of her, on the same path that the doe had taken. Would the wolf attack? Or would she stay her fangs? Saga knew what she would have done.

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Keened, her skin prickling with anticipation, she pressed on into the mountain's fog. Mindful enough--at least until she could get a better foothold on the true nature of the situation, the ghost stay poised to pounce otherwise.

The weather soon revealed a voice. Was it her hunt? Or was that only part of the tale? It very well could be and now with something better to track on, Irura kept to an equal approach, interested enough to have their paths meet. No harm, the stranger claimed, though this was not enough to dispel her guards. This still told her very little. “Anun,” — stranger/not one's own she responded with a tip of her head, her teeth held tight once she could identify the wolf as not one she had seen. Tall, dark shades fading to light. Irura had to wonder of their business, if they were one of the jarl's. Winter's deepening hold on the mountainside and beyond made her want to assume the worst, but she had been just a stranger not long ago, too.

“Who are you?” she asked next for that clarity, stepping her way forth nose first. There were traces of fellow hunters, but no real familiarity deeper than that, which is what kept Irura tense. However, the Ijiraaq could make no claim to every face, past and present, of Hrafnsvaktin.

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“I am Saga Kolbeck, and I am from many places.” Her head lifted and tossed proudly, and though one did not exist upon her face, one could almost see her smile. Perhaps it was the way those curious green eyes glittered, or the way her body stayed so relaxed, even in the presence of this stranger.

Anun.

Was that what the other woman called her? Stranger? Or was the word some form of greeting? Some kind of hello? Her head would tilt slightly as she thought about it, and then decided that it did not matter.

“Your Jarl has brought me into the fold of the mountain, and so it is here that I now call home.” Her words were succinct and matter-of-fact; they came as easily as the wind blew.

“You are of the mountain, of Hrafnsvaktin as well, yes?”

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Saga Kolbeck, of many places, she answered. Irura leaned her head to a slow nod, information settling, and assessing further when she alluded to such depths of experience. There was an obvious cool confidence here that she detected right away, and with it in mind, perhaps she had no reason to concern herself at all. Soon, the confirmation did come: she did belong beneath the jarl's gilded wings.

As for the question turned back to her, the ghost gave her own earnest nod. “Yes, I am,” she replied, aiming to match even a fraction of the ease with her answer. While still a newer moniker to wear, indeed, she was one of Hrafnsvaktin's own now too--the mountain not nearly such a stranger as winter spanned on. She had learned many of its trails already, with more yet to go as the seasons continued to shift into their cycles. “I go by Irura. Once of the ipetam, before here.” she saw fit enough to mention, because until now, that was near everything of worth. While not many places, in itself, or even a title she thought anyone in this pack might know, it had shaped her invaluably as one of the few things she could claim. Even if worlds might separate them now, they remained part of what made her whole.

Returning to the tangible present--“A little doe fled by here this way--not long before you,” she gestured slightly with her muzzle in the direction it had gone, off unseen into the haze. She glanced back to Saga after, trying to gauge her interest the matter. “Were you tracking it?” she hazarded her guess. Then, if not: “We can follow,” she suggested, eager for the chance for not only a hunt, but time beside a packmate. She paused long enough for a response before picking up in the direction they needed to go.

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