"talks like this"
He can smell her before he sees her, her scent sweet on the air, but it is tainted by the musk of another male. She belongs to another already, but it's not like that's stopped Otsoa before. In fact, that just makes him work that much harder. He spots her as she steps into the sunlight, her coat just as white and brilliant as his, but she has some interesting markings along her back. Patches of different colored fur, not unlike his black spot, but she is definitely different from him. Although her legs look strong, there is not a whole lot to back it up in her body. She is too dainty to be of use in a fight, though she may be quick. Her genes would mix well with his, creating pups that were a good mix of strong and fast, but they would be marked quite easily with some sort of strange color.

She speaks a foreign word that he does not understand, and it makes him wonder if they even speak the same language. Whether or not that would make things difficult for him, he would find out. Her fragile face dips with respect, and he can only glare at her with amber eyes, his fur being rustled in the wind the only part of him moving. He demands respect from anyone who dares come near him, and he very rarely gives it out, no matter who it is. The female sits, but he elects to stay on his feet, a statue by the river.

He hears words come from her muzzle again, but these are easier to understand. There is still something wrong with her speech, however, and he chalks it up to only her being stupid. Perhaps she suffered head trauma as a pup and couldn't speak correctly as an adult. It was a point against her, but smarts were not inherited as beauty and strength were. This...Isola, was definitely something to look at, he could not deny it. Perhaps she would be the first of his many trinkets to collect, and he only hoped she would make things easy for him. Fighting was always such a nuisance when it came to females. They would cry, struggle, and plead for mercy, but didn't they know he had none? If they were crazy enough to actually attack him, they stood a better chance of getting away - being blinded was one of the common fears that let females slip through his grasp. It was just like a woman to fight dirty instead of honestly, to go for the eyes with teeth, claws, or even dirt. More often than not, however, they would be dominated after a short chase and learn their lesson the hard way not to try to run away again. They were his toys, and they would not be leaving unless led by Death.

"You ask too many questions," he finally replied, voice low and smooth. His gaze left her for a moment so he could look back at the river, its reflective waters glistening in quite the inviting way, but he was more content to bathe in the sun after his swim. His beefy frame began to move, and he was something more like a bear lumbering along than some of these slithering snake-like wolves that he had encountered in his journeys. He was not graceful in any sense of the word, but he did not care. That was a job for the bitch, to be beautiful and delicate beside her strong and sturdy wolf, making an effort only to aid in hunts or raise pups. That was what he'd been taught, and that was what he lived by. Females were put on this world to serve males. He stalked closer, testing her personal space by sticking his nose right up beside her next, collecting a little more information about her. There was definitely more than one male scent on her, and perhaps the faint sweetness of other females. So she was a pack member and probably an unfaithful mate. "You may call me Otsoa, and you are correct in guessing that I am new to these lands," he spoke, amber eyes unmoving and lacking any emotion, "but tell me why a girl like you approaches a wolf such as myself without an escort. Doesn't your mate keep you in your place?"