An explosion of senses flooded his awareness a heartbeat prior to a great leap of a wolf bounding into view. The animal was nothing like Thorn Paw, least of which was its size. Ears were prickled forward, its mouth panting with ferocious excitement, a tongue lagging from sharp teeth. For a moment, Tristan braced as though two massive paws might perch themselves on his chest and collapse him backward. Instead, the buzz of excitement swarmed like the beehive was kicked.
Strangely, a scent of welcome swarmed his mind, followed by images of enormous eyeballs and tree stumps.
"Whoa, whoa," he put up his hands as though to halt the massive amount of energy hurling his direction. Through his veins flowed the blood of Trolls. Monstrous even by wolf-standards, despite the act of betrayal of his own kind demonstrating his truer nature.
Nuggets of his eyes hardened so that his own calm may absorb the wolf's energy like a sponge. Finally, his fingers nestled in downy fur and he was surprised to find the wolf smaller than he first assessed. Not grown. A teenager, likely.
A woman's voice pulled his gaze away. Never was a strange name, he thought, but the imagery threatened to spill again so he banished further distractions for the moment.
The girl was small, but not in the way of a teenager like the wolf of her preferred company. She was dressed for the outdoors. Most surprisingly (other than journeying in the company of a pet wolf), was her lack of surprise at finding him there. In fact, she stood like she expected nothing less than their encounter.
He stood to greet her, "Our kind?" He called in query, voice deep and thick with the Icelandic tongue. Though a churning of his stomach gave him idea as to what she meant, he was still taken aback by the intrusion of his solitude. It was a little overwhelming.
Brenna slunk wary at his feet by then. Of them all, she was the truest pup to be found, and she warily eyed the much larger wolf that seemed to invade her human's company.
Strangely, a scent of welcome swarmed his mind, followed by images of enormous eyeballs and tree stumps.
"Whoa, whoa," he put up his hands as though to halt the massive amount of energy hurling his direction. Through his veins flowed the blood of Trolls. Monstrous even by wolf-standards, despite the act of betrayal of his own kind demonstrating his truer nature.
Nuggets of his eyes hardened so that his own calm may absorb the wolf's energy like a sponge. Finally, his fingers nestled in downy fur and he was surprised to find the wolf smaller than he first assessed. Not grown. A teenager, likely.
A woman's voice pulled his gaze away. Never was a strange name, he thought, but the imagery threatened to spill again so he banished further distractions for the moment.
The girl was small, but not in the way of a teenager like the wolf of her preferred company. She was dressed for the outdoors. Most surprisingly (other than journeying in the company of a pet wolf), was her lack of surprise at finding him there. In fact, she stood like she expected nothing less than their encounter.
He stood to greet her, "Our kind?" He called in query, voice deep and thick with the Icelandic tongue. Though a churning of his stomach gave him idea as to what she meant, he was still taken aback by the intrusion of his solitude. It was a little overwhelming.
Brenna slunk wary at his feet by then. Of them all, she was the truest pup to be found, and she warily eyed the much larger wolf that seemed to invade her human's company.