Aivar :3

---

Skill - Warrior (for swooping)

AAA-AA-AA-AA!

Hurry! Hurry!

Ko-Ga circled Nate-Dog and rushed ahead, only to soon grow frustrated by his flockmate's slow pace and circle back again, urging him onward with swoops and cries.

Nate-Dog loped after, tongue lolling and leaving smoke on the frigid air behind it. If only he had been born with wings!

Skill - Ranger

Nate was pretty sure the only thing Ko-Ga wanted was to lead him to something to eat. Still learning to use a wolf's nose, he'd at least worked out the basics of turning it windward to gauge direction. And it was still a sensory overload, but blood had a kind of tint to it. The closer they got, the brighter it bloomed on the whipping crosshatch of invisible currents.

And Nate wasn't hungry.

But he was also getting tired of being bombarded by his pet-turned-self-appointed-nanny. So he followed, head low to avoid the pinching beak of Ko-Ga's impatience.

Gr-aaack!, in the distance.

Nate stopped short, ears swiveling forward. That wasn't his bird.

Ko-Ga cawed answer from on the wing.

Gra-a-ck!, weaker.

Blood and a raven. Sounded kind of ominous, but Nate realized now it probably wasn't dinner Ko-Ga wanted at all. It was help.

Well you could have said something sooner!, he called, and got back what he assumed to be corvid-profanity as they set off at pace for the sound again.

The scent of blood drew Aivar before the sound. The croaking noise of a raven made his lips curl. He didn't often eat, or even attempt to eat ravens. They were too much effort, and Aivar didn't think that they were particularly appetizing. Still, he stalked low, though not as low as a wolf with four good legs. He could put the creature out of his misery. Maybe the weasels could pick their teeth with its bones.

He froze, a stranger's scent hit him on a breeze. Teeth glinted and hackles rose. He turned his focus onto the wolf. The bird could wait.

He was aware of a loud crow, as well, but dismissed it.

He stood straight, prowled forward on stiff legs, and found this stranger also investigating the ravenblood on the wind.

“What are you nosing about for, hm?” Aivar demanded as he came upon the stranger. His tail was rigid and raised, though he had the decency to lower his lips so only the tips of his fangs showed as he spoke.

Scrounger, he thought contemptuously, as if he hadn't been in a similar position not so long ago.

Stopping short to the sound of approach, Nate held his ground at the appearance of a newcomer.

He'd heard the tone of voice, Before. Plenty of times. Stranger in town, mixed-blood plain on his features, and even pa's blue eyes wouldn't save Nate the treatment of a stray.

Mithwyth had warned him to be careful around other wolves' claims, and he supposed it would be too much to hope that a change in shape would preclude the violence of prejudice.

An ear flicked back. But there was still time to try at kindness. So Nate smiled warmly, instead, Come now, brother, being curious is no crime, is it? A tilt of the head, noticing the crudely healed wound but making no particular show of doing so. Nate Ronan, at your service. I smelled the blood, worried someone needed help.

Still those pale eyes didn't waver in meeting gaze — a sort of quiet challenge echoed back, even without a growl to answer. Nate wasn't afraid, whether or not others would say he ought to be. After dying once already, it sort of took the uncertainty out of things.

“It might be,” Aivar said with a cold, mirthless smile. “And I'm not your brother,” he added, lifting his head. Figure of speech or no, no stranger was going to be using such a familiar term with him. It reminded him too much of Aryn, and the memory was an antler tine to the heart.

“You smelled blood huh? Do you make a habit of patching up injured birds then?” The stormcoat cocked a brow. He was giving this stranger the benefit of the doubt, because the way he worded it, it sounded an awful lot like he didn't know what kind of blood it was. And maybe he didn't. Maybe his nose was broken, or maybe he really was some avian medic.

“You can call me Aivar, Nate Ronan,” he said with a sniff.

I'm not your brother.

Nate was used to it. Should be used to it. Would be better, if he was used to it.

The smile flickered, just a little, and he lifted his head right back. His tail remained level with his spine — an unconscious gesture, the work of wild blood in him making sentiment known. Not hostile. But hardly cowed, either.

Circling above them, Ko-Ga called. Revival had made something more ornery out of him, braver maybe, and Nate hoped the bird wouldn't do something stupid. Especially when Mister Big Bad Wolf went in for a sniff.

Aivar. Nate nodded, taking a step to the side when he felt the stranger had gotten a little too close for comfort. Noses were fine; it was the teeth he worried about. And a name was better than nothing, but given what came before it, he decided it was best to expect no welcome, here.

Well, yeah, actually — I do. The raven's all I'm here for. Not coming for your deer or dens or... women, or anything. Did wolves fight over women? Probably.

I'll be on my way straight after, so don't worry.

Amber eyes narrowed as Aivar watched Nate Ronan's reaction. It was subtle, but Aivar spoke subtle, could read the small movements that he didn’t necessarily consciously notice. Interesting how that smile flickered. Why did it matter to this wolf that Aivar was no brother to a stranger? His tongue slipped from his mouth as he licked his lips, thinking.

He didn't miss the way that tail was held, either. Bold. Very bold. It put Aivar on edge, but aside from the way his hackles lifted slightly, he did nothing.

Aivar glanced up at the crow, back to Nate Ronan. “That must be with you too, then, hm, Birdhealer?” He quirked a brow and moved to circle the stranger. “I want to see what you do,” he added in an even tone as he came back around the other wolf's side.

Of course he did. That's Ko-Ga. He's a vicious killer of a bird, so, watch yourself. No sudden moves, lip quirking in another attempt at de-escalation through humour, Nate's eyes followed Aivar as he circled, head turning to keep the other well in view.

The busted leg didn't slow him down too bad, but if it came to blows, it might give Nate a fighting chance. In a brawl Before he'd been passable. Survived a few knife fights. Even got shot, once.

This body was different. Unfamiliar. And there were no confrontations without the kinds of fangs he'd seen cleave cowbone in two on the range. Better to stay friendly, if blood could be avoided.

Well. More blood, anyway.

If you're curious, sure, tag along. Just — try not to scare it. Low and slow, ok? Finally allowing his gaze to slip off Aivar, Nate walked forward with his head level to spine and tail — a poor approximation of a stalk, but then, he didn't entirely trust his counterpart and wanted to be ready to react if he got jumped.

You missed out on a perfectly good opportunity to call me a quack medic, y'know. He scoffed.

“Uh-huuh,” Aivar drawled. Clearly this Nate Ronan thought he was a real funny guy. No crow he'd ever met was a vicious killer. What was it gonna do? Peck him? Shit on him? Maybe.

Aivar rolled his eyes as this stranger told him how to not scare the bird. “I think I know how to be quiet,” he scoffed. But ravens were smart. He wasn't so sure a raven would think a stalking wolf looked like it wasn’t trying to eat it. But what did he know? He wasn't a bird healer.

“A what?” Aivar cocked his head, and a brow, in confusion. “Ravens don't quack,” he said quietly as he followed Nate Ronan. Well, he supposed they could if they wanted to imitate a duck, but the joke this man was trying to make sure didn't make any sense.

Facing away from Aivar, Nate rolled his eyes. Tch. Tough crowd. A quack medic is like — a fraud. Y'know, hawkers? Snake oil? Uh— Right. Wolves who had always been wolves. You know what, nevermind.

They were close, anyway.

Nate pricked his ears at the sound of frantic wingbeats, and glanced up at Ko-Ga for confirmation. That was where Nate's real edge lay. Friends in high places.

The raven might not trust a man, or a wolf... but it had no reason to doubt kin. Birds were relentless gossips, after all.