It wasn't long before she could scent the scent of one of her fellow packmates on the wind. Shortly after, she saw the gray man walk to her, asking if he could join her.
"Of course, Vasiliy," she said amiably to the foreign man, not wanting to scare him away - he already seemed slightly skittish, as if he wasn't entirely comfortable with her yet. She put on a warm smile - she did not want to make her fellow d'Artisans uncomfortable, and although she was still their leader, she was also someone to be trusted for them.
She glanced down at the carving she had made in the log. It did not have a cohesive image, but rather it swirled and curved along the log, like a trail of so many ants following the trail of berries or another sweet substance. She realized that she did not know now where it began, and where it ended - but she supposed that it didn't matter much now, she thought as she lay down the knife and looked back to Vasiliy.
"How do you like d'Arte?" she asked, giving him a mischievous grin. She knew all too well how he liked it here, what with his love of the ocean and the ship and the trading trip he organized, but she did want to see for herself what he said.
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