It is true that the night is the most beautiful, but he is weary and just a little uncertain in a new world. There are surely bad omens and demons alive and well in the night of Moladion but he finds solace in the moon's company; she is a powerful guardian, one who had guided him for many cycles to the new land. Unsure as he might have been, he held hope for the wolves of Moladion to prove themselves as strong, reliable and of good character. He has a mission but once it had been completed, he had an inkling on what might grow to excite him - he'd always been compelled to offer his prowess in other fields for the exchange of goods. It was a different ideology to those held by his prior clan, a group that would often thieve and invade, but it was one that seemed more... fair. He would gain and those that took him aboard would gain; where was the wrong in such a trade off? Of course, with such established packs, there would likely be little need for him but who was he to assume? The world had a plan for him, it was just a matter of getting onto the right path.

He watched her, the way her young features lit up in his presence, and he found himself intrigued even furthermore - their willingness to accept and engage strangers was... unusual. It had not been that way for many cycles - the way somebody welcomed him without apparent suspicion or ulterior motives. His head tilted slowly, his brow furrowing in intrigue as he continued to take a few more tentative steps closer. As if his nervousness had been some kind of que, she took off but not in the opposite direction, no, but straight for him. His ears laid back down across his skull, his broad paws taking him back a step or two as she stopped right in his face - he could almost see his own reflection in her eyes as he found himself speechless. His hackles had flinched and he laid them back down flat, his lips pulling up into a sheepish grin.

"Ja, I like these Marks. It is ... sjeldne, uh, rare in my lands."

He motioned to the one's across her back, a brow rising up as he glanced back to her face. He chuckled out of his own uncertainty as she backed away but he followed some steps, untangling his paws from the bramble beneath him and shaking off his dense pelt of the twigs and leaves that had attached themselves to him. She was so... excited about nothing truly but he could almost see her shaking in joy through the twilight. Had this been what the others of his clan had found? Wolves so excited and strangely coloured?

"This Mark," he spoke again, motioning once more to the marks over her back, his head tilted curiously as he examined them further, "It is like Valkyrja Merke; chooser of the slain. Where do you come from, child? Have you a name in these lands?"