Noss was quite honestly a very confused man. Oh, he had the tough facade of the warrior--and the look to boot--but he was quite clueless in many areas that did not involve battle or the art of it. He had been walking the territory that day for the sheer purpose of contemplating the obstacle before him--mateship. Courting his chosen mate was a tad difficult in itself in that he was no longer in the Moon Tribe--the rituals that he would've undergone there probably had no weight in his new home. Not to mention he knew Strel to be far more refined than a simple ritual. If any male had performed a ritual like he had been taught in the Moon Tribe, he would not even have to had spoken to the female to get it to work; she need only accept the three gifts given to her. But Strel was not so simple; far from it. And that was what puzzled the grey man so. He loved the red-headed tailor, but truly courting was a totally different direction than the straightforward, aggressive methods he had already employed

The wicker of horses caught his attention, bringing him to go near a fenced area within the territory. He had grown intimately accustomed to the boundaries and land, so he no longer required assistance with the navigation about it, and he was surprised to see that he was growing increasingly more apt at interacting between his pack mates--a feat not many would've once considered doable. To prove it, he spotted a young wolf off to the side along the fence who reminded Noss very much of a raccoon. Despite this, his nose wrinkled at the scent of dominance. It was not emanating because of the boy's persona--quite the contrary, he seemed to be meek--but it was certainly because of his rank. Sometimes it irked Noss that he was older than many of these wolves and yet they outranked him, but he had long ago swallowed that pride and resigned himself to accepting his new role in life. It was not bad at all, he found. "Those are fine horses," he said gruffly as he walked up to the other male, not really making eye contact with the wolf but looking at the three horses as the other was. "The stallion has good muscle tone." It was just small talk, but Noss could truly appreciate a fine horse. He had once ridden them for scouting and war parties, but it had mostly been a single stallion that had been large enough--a behemoth almost--to carry Noss's muscley weight. That black stallion was long since left behind in his birth pack, and although Noss would miss him, there was no use crying over spilled milk.

Warrior walks. ”Warrior talks.” Warrior thinks.

The warrior noticed how the younger male presented himself and was confused; was he not in seniority in reference to rank? While he appreciated the initial show of submissiveness, he knew it misplaced as he was then, so did not comment on it or take it far to heart. The boy seemed timid, he noticed instead, and thus placed that as the reason.

"Hawthorn, eh?" Noss said as he went right up the to fence where the horse hugged the wood as it trotted. How odd that it, too, was black. It was not quite the behemoth that Nakir was, but...an impressive stead nonetheless. With the court respect that he had learned--to treat one's mount with courtesy, as it was the relationship of horse and rider--he let the horse scent him before bringing up his own hand to cup the stallion's long muzzle in one hand, gently turning its head so that he may further inspect it. "You speak low speech," Noss commented as he continued his inspection, letting Hawthorn's muzzle free so that he may look further on the horse's features. "Not an easy language to learn. But he's yours, I assume?"

Noss then fully turned his attention from the stallion to the other wolf, satisfied that at least he was not unwelcome, if unexpected. "My name's Noss," he introduced himself, "and I would like to know how I might find myself a mount." While it had not been planned or even considered until then, it was better sooner than later that one got down to business, which he might chide himself on for multiple reasons of hypocrisy, since he had put some important things off for quite a bit... Which would soon change.

Warrior walks. ”Warrior talks.” Warrior thinks.

Noss nodded at the boy's explanation and could sympathize. Noss did not speak it very well at all--a snippet of a word, at most--and did not very well deign to learn. He'd much rather be hunting or sparring--all that manly-man stuff--than learning another language. It had taken enough cajoling from his father to learn not only their native tongue but the more-commonly used English. And still he found his voice was accented in the way that most of his words were guttural, and not at all smooth and flowing.

"AniWaya, huh?" It appeared as if his sister's pack was well-connected to this one, since this was not the first time he had heard mention of the place among the wolves of Cour des Miracles. The boy had also said 'a few weeks'. "So you only got him recently then?" The horse seemed so accustomed to the boy and that pasture that it seemed hard to believe, though. Alder, as he was named, began to lead Noss graciously to the stables while asking the grey man's preferences, although Noss was just happy to find a mount. While a bit timid for Noss's liking, the boy was agreeable and thorough, which he could appreciate. "Not many; just strong enough to ride with me." He hoped that didn't come off as arrogant, as he meant it that he agreed with the young man in that finding a horse of the right size for someone of their size was difficult in itself. The stables were not overflowing with horses, but there were a fair amount of them, and Noss was pleased that Alder perhaps had one to fit the bill. Arriving at the stall, he saw that his perchance upon the boy had been a spirit-sent luck. There inside was a large stallion--a draft horse by the look of him--with a deep chestnut hide and black mane. His forelegs had black socks while the hind-legs had white, and there was a stripe of white from his brow to his nose as well. Stepping up to the partition he let the horse greet him like he had with Hawthorn, examining him in a similar way as well. In many ways, he was perfect. "He does more than well," Noss said good-naturedly as he patted the horse's muzzle. "Does he have a name?"

Warrior walks. "Warrior talks." Warrior thinks.