I've been looking forward to using this title for days. For some reason, it makes me laugh every time I see it. Sorry for the monster post.

Contrary to what Ambrose had expected, the trip to Cercatori D'Arte had taken all day, rather than just the few hours a fellow traveler had told him it would take. By the time he did reach the area close to the pack of artists, night had fallen yet again, and the terrier was starting to regret not having brought any thicker clothing with him when he first came to Nova Scotia. Sitting himself down near the borders again, he started to think about what his plan would be. After encountering two different packs, he was beginning to get a feel for the border etiquette here. This was not something he had ever really had to think about before, as the port cities he was accustomed to put less focus on single pack identities and more on the trade opportunities provided by the mixing of many different packs, tribes, nations... He had seen so many different kinds of organization, very little surprised him anymore.

As he sat, Ambrose found himself wondering what kind of organization would appeal to a pack of artists, as he had heard this pack was. Certainly, he thought, they would place a heavy emphasis on individual talent, and he realized that perhaps having some sort of gift would improve his chances of being granted an interview with a pack member. Perhaps he could even trade the gift for a warm cloak to keep him warm on his journey around the peninsula... Assuming that he did not decide to settle with this pack, of course. His decision would rest on the information he would soon discover.

After some time of looking through his belongings, Ambrose pulled out an old piece of scrimshaw he had started a few weeks ago. He examined the bone carefully, considering the etching on its surface, then nodded and held the small piece of artwork in his hand. He was not exactly an artist, but he did know how to draw ships, and the one etched into the bone's surface was one that he felt proud enough of to trade in port. This was not exactly a port city, but perhaps he could still manage to exchange the scrimshaw piece for some information, rations, and a bit of warm clothing.

I don't think I actually wrote in a howl, so it's ok.

Ambrose was stirred from his thoughts by the sound of a flute playing somewhere in the forest. He perked up his ears to listen to the melody, which came closer to him, until a large red wolf came into view, with the instrument in hand. As he approached Ambrose raised a hand to wave slightly to the man, letting him know that he meant no harm.

"Good evening," he said. "I'm looking for someone from the pack that lives here... As you are, I assume? That's a fine melody, by the way." Introductions were best done standing, so Ambrose did just that, wanting to greet the wolf with a little more dignity. Only after he stood did he realize just how much taller the other man was compared to him. Looking up at him, he returned the bow, moving a paw with a gesture towards his chest. "The name is Ambrose Llywelyn. I'm looking for a place to settle down, and I thought I would try to learn about all the packs that I could before making my decision. I'd be honored if you could help to orient me a little and perhaps tell me something of your pack. A sales pitch, I suppose." Then, his choice of words reminding him of his thought about the cloak, he added, "I also wondered if there might be a trade opportunity... I don't have much, just some tales and a bit of ivory, but I do need some new clothes for the winter and am willing to trade for them."

Ambrose dipped his head again in a half bow when the Alpha introduced himself. "A pleasure to meet you as well, Shawchert. I hope I am not too much of an intrusion upon your leadership duties." For an alpha male, the tall wolf had been very welcoming towards him, which was something Ambrose did not always find in encounters with highly ranked wolves. This made him feel much more warmly towards the pack, as he did not much care for the sharp rank divisions and border paranoia he had encountered with wolf packs in the past.

He listened to the alpha's description of his pack, nodding at appropriate points. He noted the hint of pride in Shawchert's voice and smiled. It hinted at a sense of unity that Ambrose would certainly enjoy in his packmates. "Well, I'm not exactly an artist, but I know a song or two and am good at making things that will last. And, of course, I am no stranger to music and merrymaking." He grinned. In response to the alpha's question, he said, "I would be glad to see some of the packlands, if that's not too much trouble. I understand you must have other duties to attend to as well, and I wouldn't want to keep you overlong."

At the man's last words, he considered his options for a moment before continuing. "Well... It's just that my own coat doesn't keep out the cold as much as it used to. Perhaps it's the weather here, or maybe-" He wrinkled his nose and shook his head. He had been about to say "maybe I am just getting older" but couldn't quite bring himself to say it. He was graying around the edges maybe, but he was not yet an old man who complained about the aches in his joints and the remarkable chill of what used to be a summer breeze. "Ah, no, it's not too much of a problem. If your people are short on supplies, it would a poor trade for me to take them from you, especially during the winter when resources are scarce. My own cotton clothing does not quite keep out the cold, but it's better than fur alone."