Deep in thought, Alistair hadn't noticed the younger male approach, his white eyes lazily meandering past the treeline until they came upon the other. He was surprised, for a moment, his eyes widening slightly-- it was rare that someone approached him unexpectedly. But it was not a negative emotion, for today he sought to meet someone new in the pack that he championed. And the curious, questioning air of this male, coupled with his lack of speech, told Alistair that they might suffer from the same ailment. He rose to his paws, jumping swiftly down from the log, his eyes remaining transfixed on the patchwork sort of boy who had approached him. It was a strange thing that he might be approached and not notice it, but he supposed wolves who could not hear had a rather inconvenient silence about them by virtue of their experiences.

Alistair's tail gave a few waves, and he smiled-- as small and timid as the expression looked. His children had taught him gentleness, and, at the very least he sought to make the other feel more comfortable if he could. Perhaps this stranger had noticed something about him that he did himself, such as his scanning of the trees or the way that his ears did not swivel to catch his approach. They were kin, in a way, and he supposed there was some sort of beauty in wanting to be around those similar to you. Nevertheless, he had never communicated with another who was deaf before, he had never had the opportunity. Alistair wondered how different it would be from speaking with those who had full control over their faculties.

"Good morning," He greeted, tilting his head slightly. "I am Alistair. What is your name?" His words were simple and enunciated. Alistair had had much practice speaking and listening but he assumed that not everyone would be the same. Blessed, in a way, to be able to fit in with the hearing wolves, to make his path without assumptions based on something he had since birth. Pity was never something that he wanted-- compassion, perhaps, or understanding when he was younger, but never pity. He had held his own all these years, after all. "I think we might be one in the same, my friend." His face was gentle, coaxing. It was the face and the tones he often used with his children. "Am I correct?"