He was still disorientated, and more than a little embarrassed. His emerald eyes narrowed through a thin gauze of mist. There was an old saying where he was from, the gypsy’s used to mutter the old ways and verses at times like these. What was it?

Of course. It wasn’t a phrase that was easily forgotten. It had sort of an eeriness to it, as if the words were alive. The phrase had always sent shudders through Frodo- he’d never quite understood why. Perhaps he finally did understand now, though. Last winter he’d been in a place with a much warmer climate that here, but he’d heard tales of the snow and the ice, and the cold. The cold killed people. People like him, Frodo added to his thoughts with a grimace, clenching his stiff fingers around the reins of his horse to steady himself. Frodo was more vulnerable in his current state. The two wolves had helped him regain some strength, and helped him take his mouth to water, but he wasn’t the same. On the outside he was almost-healthy but his insides had rubbed raw of emotion, and he was only just claiming back the strength to be happy again.

The curly furred, black, auburn, and gold marked male squeezed his mount with the tiniest of nudges, and the lively fellow was back at a canter again. They hadn’t galloped since Frodo had fallen, for though the horse was now well rested, well fed, and strong enough for galloping, Frodo was not. He’d lost his confidence for the day, and wished more than anything to just find home. But Mr Silvertongue had simply no idea if he was on the right trail or not, and his skill at tracking all together seemed to be lacking. The male was made to feel small, because he was usually great at tracking, and hunting. Physically, he actually was quite small; not that small - more average in height - but small looking nonetheless with his skinny frame, and narrow shoulders. Frodo rode his steed for about ten minutes more before finally declaring them both lost. It was getting colder, so Frodo reached down into a saddle bag, and pulled out his clock, wrapping it around himself tightly. He spotted a lone figure a few meters ahead, and this gave him hope. He dismounted in one fluent movement, and locked his eyes on the figure. He however turned round to glare at his horse as it let out a protesting whinny at the thought of his boy approaching a stranger. Strider was not a fan of wolves that were not Frodo. Shush your cakehole Strider. I dun wanna hear anything moving, anything speaking, squeaking, or meandering, even a mouse’s fart, so to speak. Frodo muttered to his companion. He grabbed the horse‘s bridle and attempted to walk up to the femme. Strider pulled at the bridle harshly in response. Naughty. We’re gettin outa these woods pronto, ‘soon have this bridy-bridle off, no more than a jiffy. But we keep it on, captain, till we get home. Frodo growled, in a somehow lively manor, to his horse.

The horse and wolf-man cautiously started walking a large circle, and then attempted to approach Naniko from the front. It was not a good idea approaching a stranger from the back, they would fear you were a backstabber! When Frodo first started to make out the form that stood in the cold breeze, he realised with a jolt it was a tall, powerful looking woman. This one’s gonna be tricky, you hear? Match me, Sidney. he left one last comment for his horse to mull over, and then finally got close enough to see the femme eye-to-eye. Frodo always looked people in the eyes, and it was nice to see she had her own orbs a similar striking shade of jade as he had his. She was attractive, in a stern looking way, Frodo noted. Ello there miss. I’m Frodo. Frodo Silvertongue. Something of a loner and something of an AniWayan. At your service in a thrice, I do declare. he gave her a wolfish, slightly shy and reserved smile, holding out a slender, but strong hand for her to shake. His eyes twinkled now. I’ve had my peepers searching for my ex-pack for a while, but I’m lost, you got me? Don’t suppose you’d know the way?

If Frodo had known her intentions of finding and capturing a moose, he’d have quite a thing or two to say about it. Moose were wild animals, plain and simple. You could have said wolves were wild animals a good couple of decades ago, but behold they were not really true wolves anymore. They were what was left of man, at least, that’s what Frodo was brought up to believe. But the truth was, it took time to develop their species to what they were today. Horses had been selectively bred for years to develop the traits that their riders and masters wanted them to have. Moose were only loyal to their herds; if you got a female it would most likely die in a quivering insanity before a couple of days, and a male would only boisterously destroy everything near to it. Not only would this lady have a big trouble catching one, she’d have years of training on her hands and not enough time. Perhaps she would succeed if she found a baby to rear, but it was also an impossible task to even attempt to ride a trained wild animal if you knew nothing of riding already. Frodo did not know whether she had rode before, but it took quite a lot of practice to get at a comfortable stage, and he knew that the moment that he - and others - had sat on a horse, they’d formed a longing and want for the creatures for the rest of their lives. There would be plenty of breeds large enough to carry the luperci that stood before Frodo now, and she would be much better off with a majestic creature such as a horse, that she could connect with silently like Frodo did Strider.

The curly furred male smiled at her tentatively. When he approached, she held up a hand in greeting and in return he nodded his head. When they were standing eye to eye, he realised she was a tad taller than him, but that was only to be expected. She spoke to him then, and he felt at ease. Nice name. Nice girl. Pleased to meet you. I shoulda brought flowers or chocolates or a dead mouse. he grinned, good natured and of innocent intentions as always. His grin spread wider as she acknowledged the horse that stood beside him, perhaps a few more footsteps away than Frodo was to the femme. Strider stood stiffly, lingering like the wolf’s shadow. Ah. This here’s Strider. I’ll warn you, he takes some getting used to, but it’s a gift of the gab, the wagging tongue that’ll get him to like you, so to speak. Mind you, he knows the word beautiful, you might be half way up the platter-form to friendship already, skipper! sometimes his voice was quite hard to understand. The femme spoke clear, and smooth, wheras he was rough around the edges.

She was to think the truth when thinking he still smelt a tad like AniWaya. But yeah, he did smell very different as well. He smelt of sea salt, and sand, and pine trees, and there was a bit of blood mixed in there too. When she next spoke to him, it made him tense up, and it was obvious he was upset about AniWaya being so far away. A few days south, you say? I don‘t Adam and Eve it! he scratched his head, and then moved his hand to rub the prickling scars on his back precociously. Had our hearts set on getting there by night fall, didn’t we, skipper? he looked to his steed, but then waved a hand dismissively. Yes, Dawali is a good man, my girl. I didn’t see him much, but I heard stories, you carry?

The man shifted his weight and ran a hand through his long, auburn mane anxiously, pursing his chiselled maw and blinking bright, pained eyes. His gaze lingered on the floor longer than it should have before returning back to the woman. And as he looked at her, he couldn’t help but notice the long, silver braid that drifted down her front in such a gentle manor that he wanted to grab it and play with it for hours. When she asked if he really was at her service, and that it was more probable she’d be at his, he only flattened the green bandana resting on his chest and grinned; Frodo’s at the service of any lady’s that happen to cross his path. But I’m not against said lady helping me, neither. It looks like it‘ll take longer than we thought to get home, I‘ll be grateful of some help, I‘m bladdy cream-crackered. the thought of food made his stomach rumble quite audibly, and he glanced downwards in a glare as if to shut it up. He replied to her next comment in surprise. You bury food and remember where you put it? My old china, you gotta be pulling my plonker. Up and at ‘em, tiger lil’. he paused. What pack are you from, if I may be so bold? Was that what you were doing all the way out here, scouting borders? he questioned.

It was now time for him to assume she would take him to the food, so he patted his white stallion, double-checked on the saddle bags and gave his head a mental sign for the all clear. It seemed he had struck pot luck when choosing this stranger to come talk to, as he could tell Naniko would be wise. And then Frodo's thoughts were invaded when he thought of food once more, and despite attempts to push the image out of his mind, he could not. He just could not wait till she shared something with him... perhaps he would have to share something with her in return.

The wolf respected the lady, certainly in the aspect of her choice of gift. You could see that in his eyes as he heard the words blade, or tool, or food. Surely these were men’s toys of gifts, maybe not so much the meat, but the blade or tool certainly? Back where he was from, women were to cook and to clean, yet they were still equal to men, and did the house work from choice. He was surprised and taken aback, but yet his opinion of her grew. A sneaky smile formed on the corner of his maw, as if to say he’d keep the information in mind. Why he’d store such information was unclear to him fully, yet one thing he understood was that he’d like to have more meetings with the femme. They had only just been acquainted yet Frodo was already starting to like her. And perhaps, if they ever did meet again, he would bring something along. Frodo was a fair craftsman; he was skilled in making both extravagant, beautiful weapons such as his hunting bow, and simple items; like bowls or other trinkets for example. Or he could even ask a trained craftsman from his pack- if he could find any, that was. There were so many possibilities when meeting someone new. It was funny, thinking now that at first he’d only wanted to stop for directions, but he’d learnt a great deal about his whereabouts from her, and she‘d been so kind, and although there could be a good deal of afternoon left to carry on travelling, he’d much rather spend it resting - and eating - in Naniko’s company. He owed her.

The shadowing horse stiffened in reply to the woman addressing him, his physical communication unclear but his understanding of words roughly forming together. He knew a lot more than people took him to know, but there was no way of showing this. One thing he understood now was that Frodo was happy in the wolf’s presence, another that he, himself, was still wary of the stranger. But Strider had always been wary, and frightened, but not entirely stupid. He knew a relaxed conversation when he saw one, at least, and part of his guard had fallen away. Strider was a wary and unpredictable steed, however the stallion’s intentions were only good, and he only wished to protect his boy. Funny how most saw a horse as belonging to it’s rider, yet Strider saw Frodo as someone he himself owned like a pet, and had to protect. Maybe it was the stallion-nature of him, the wanting to herd and to lead. This paternal instinct would most likely be lost, if the stallion happened to be gelding-made, and it was a good job he hadn’t, too. Castrate a horse, and the horse became a dud, and it’s personality fell away for you to mould yourself. Most would think this as a good thing, but
Frodo believed it was bad, and would take away the horse's dignity.

Frodo watched Naniko beckon and responded with his eyes, the orbs falling gentle and eager. One slender, black hand reached underneath Strider’s chin to where he had a better grip on the bridle. There was no lead rope, in fact Frodo had never used a lead rope, and so he made do with leading by just the scraps of leather that formed the horse’s restraint. Frodo had to fall a few paw-steps behind the woman, seeing as he was following, but the onyx wolf could easily keep up, and also continue speaking to her. Again the man scratched his furry scalp, wondering what sort of food she exactly had in mind. Frodo found himself hoping it was something he liked, and then hissed through his teeth silently. He would be happy with whatever she gave him, was his ultimate and final decision.

Both ears cocked up stimatainasly when she began to answer his curiosity. And truly, this made him even more curious, but at least answered his question. He could tell she’d been a woman of power but not guessed of authority in a pack; when she said she formed the territory known as Anathema, he raised and waggled his eyebrows as if he wouldn’t or couldn’t believe it, yet of course he did believe her. I haven’t heard of it, no, but thence sounds like a stairway to heaven, not half. he commented gruffly, holding her own green gaze for a moment or two. And as she revealed that the members were to seal in blood, and showed to him her paw-pads, he could only stare down at her palms in a stern amazement. It was a moment or two or silence before the lad lifted up his chin, speaking in something of a whisper. ‘Tis a well-nifty thing to seal in blood, an honourable thing. Once the seal is made, the receiver becomes your kin. These ones, these people of Anathema, must be worthy. Mark my words, conqueror. his non-blinking eyes scanned her paws one last time before being averted. He was mysteriously intrigued, and had a feeling like he was intruding upon her privacy.

The afternoon was still present, but because of winter the days were getting shorter; or at least, appearing shorter. At this moment, the sun started to set, and Frodo cast a glare at the colourful sky. Lights out, boys and girls. he turned to Naniko; In no more than a jiffy we’re gonna need us some fire, my wicked little snickersnee. I‘ll tell it how it is- let’s find this grub pronto, so to speak. he rubbed his hands together and pulled his olive-born cloak around his chest, glad of the welcomed warmth. He blew out some sea-scented breath into the wind, and watched it make warm steam. They’d been walking a fair distance, and Frodo wondered if they were any closer than when they first began.

It was interesting listening to her explain about the blood ties. It intrigued him dearly, and Frodo found himself intent on perking up his ears, and lusting for more when she'd finished speaking. Nah. There's nuffink that can scare me, Cherry Valance. he mocked subtly, putting a stray hand on his hip while they walked. He was glad to know they were close by the time the sun had set. When she finally started digging around in the ground, he tethered his horse underneath a tree and then rolled a fallen log outwards, placing it near Naniko. He collapsed on it readily, cracking his knuckles before settling down into a comfortable position. Soundin' fine and dandy. Make sure you don't go too far out, mind you. If you get into any trouble, holler an' I'll be there pronto. Leave the meat 'ere. We can cook it laters, so we can. his intense eyes fell cautious and they flickered around, growing darker seemingly at the same time as the sky did. His face clouded over and one hand automatically flew to his back, feeling at the puckered skin, the tender scars. Wincing, he got up from the log, and sauntered over to Strider.

He made sure there was enough slack where his horse was tied so that the horse could easily lie down. There was. Frodo was confident in thinking that he'd be staying the rest of the night in the wilderness, so he whipped out a gypsy-made blanket and pillow as well as a small jar of tinder from the horse's saddle bags before unsaddling the horse completely. Yawning, the man dropped off all items back where the legs of meat had been buried. A small way off he constructed a fire pit, with the dry twigs and such he found lying around as well as the tinder in his jar. Frodo would be able to start a fire, but he'd need the logs to keep it going. Mentally, he told Naniko to hurry up; he told himself he was cold but in fact he was worried for the female, despite the tall woman being obviously very capable and Frodo himself...not so much. With a low growl he struck rock against rock and sparks ignited, doing nothing except turn his shambling fire a glowing red until he blew at it, and the sparks grew into small flames. It was all he could do to throw a few more nearby twigs on it, and then from there wait. Frodo lay his cloak on the ground then, and instead of sitting to wait on the log he propped a pillow up beside it and sat with his back to it, sitting on his cloak with the blanket wrapped round his body. Mr Silvertongue stared into the small flames with open wonderment, his head falling back against the bark so the chiselled cranium lolled on his shoulders and made him feel drowsier than ever.

He was beyond amused when she called him by sir before trotting off. He was anxious though, watching her form leave into the darkness set a slight chill up his spine. Perhaps it was to be expected given the darkness and stillness of the hour, but still, something didn’t seem right. Either way he sat down, kindling the fire with the blanket on his lap, intense eyes pools of green melancholy as he worked at the flames, attempting to keep them going despite the harsh wind that seemed to constantly blow at the fire. The man scowled and was just thinking that Naniko should probably be there by now, when he heard a shout from the undergrowth. At once, in a sudden movement his body had snapped, jerked upwards from it's sitting position, ears pricked up, nose inhaling. His face went straight towards the sounds of Naniko’s voice and he growled deep in his throat, hearing his name and then commandments being thrown into the air. With all speed he had pulled both blanket and pillow up from the floor and had rushed to Strider, un-tethering the distraught beast at once.

In a few moments all equipment was back in the saddle bags, except for his bow and quiver which he drew out swiftly with a low growl. The atmosphere of their meeting had quickly turned from light and happy to tense and dangerous. Feeling moody, Frodo walked straight back up to the clearing, seeing Naniko rush straight towards him. He let out a feral snarl to see two figures in the distance, and then turned his intense eyes back to the lady. Go. I’ll be followin’ easy enough. his eyes were boiling and stubborn, it was very clear indeed there was nothing to alter his decision. With as much confidence as the lad could muster, he had stepped in front of the capable lady, his back to her as he shouldered his quiver, drawing an arrow out and knocking it in place. His stance was wide and somehow he managed to roughly block his horse and Naniko from the two beasts that approached now. Frodo was no fool; arrows were no use against the muscle and fat of bears, he knew this but their sharp edges would at least serve as a distraction. And permanent diability, he hoped too. They had all too quickly got on the wrong side of him; by threatening the woman who he thought now to be innocent they were threatening his honour.

Pity was something he thought not of now. The guilt would come later for causing pain and havoc among the deadly creatures, that were so despicable, yet majestic and to be respected. The bow was aimed and released. His aim was accurate and presice yet the beasts kept on coming. He knocked another peacock-feathered arrow in place, released, did the same. He repeated the arrows in quick succession until only four remained. Each time the drawing of the weapons had been fluent and quick, straight to the point. They rampaged further as he loosened the arrows but he knew he had hindered them. Two arrows stuck out of the larger bear’s eyes; one in each glassy, empy orb. Three were embedded in the younger one’s neck and the final arrow piercing through it’s ear. Frodo had tried to keep calm but his aim had shook slightly when attacking the younger one; it seemed it was just following the bigger of the beasts and perhaps it didn’t know what it was doing. So his arrows had not fully hit their mark. But the bears had been distracted enough, at least. There was no time to think now. They were upon him.

He leapt backwards as the strike of one heavy, heavy paw came. He left the meat discarded on the ground, the fire he put out with a stamp of his foot. And then he’d turned, and ran straight to his horse. His horse he thought of now. The man slapped Strider on his great flank and the beast was off at a gallop, snorting as he ran. Wherever the horse ran too, he would be found later. Frodo trusted Strider to look after himself; he was a horse of intelligence, and was well aware that horses could outrun a bear. So could a wolf. Desperately Frodo turned his head this way and that, sniffing the air. He’d find out if Naniko had stayed or ran when he’d told her too. If she’d stayed he would run with her to the caves. If he found out she’d already left he would be chasing her scent. Trouble was, it was hard for one to track when you were on edge and petrified, whatever display of bravery you’d just shown.

He was looking around quickly, his expression beyond desperate when he finally caught her scent and he turned his head towards the pale woman, intense eyes sparkling with adrenaline and nervousness. She proposed they go after Strider, so this made him assume the horse had gone to the caves. I’m right behin’ you, Jeremy fish’! he called back as she sped off into the night. The man shouldered both bow and quiver and then sped of after her on lean legs, his running a pulsating rhythm which smacked against the floor both gracefully and fluent but harsh at the same time. He ran with a certain urgency that could only be accomplished in a situation such as the one now. He knew he’d be faster in secui but he could hardly leave his bow and quiver behind; they were too precious to him. Despite only having the four arrows left he would collect the other six hopefully, if they managed to fall out of the bears by morning. If not, he’d just make new ones. It was when he was thinking and running while being chased when he realised he wasn’t following Naniko anymore. His mouth dropped open and he drew to a halt, nervously looking around once more, but then he spotted her behind. He’d over taken her when she was catching her breath and he hadn’t realised it.

No time for breath catchin’, squire! Those bears are hungry, mark my words, you do not want to be stayin’ for dinner! he cried, running back for her. Smoothly he grabbed hold of one hands that was round her head and pulled it, and then started to run again with her palm in his. Hopefully with her now following behind. God knew she was taller and most probably a deal stronger than him in his currently weak state but hopefully she’d get the general idea. Frodo was skinny for the most part, however his hands were quite large and had their own length and muscle; it came with being a practised rider and bowman. He tightened his grip and pulled her along, running straight for the caves that he could now see in the distance. Finally he drew up inside a cave and let go of her paw to steady himself, as he put both hands on his knees and breathed heavily. The wolf man then straightened up and saw his horse cowering in the shadows. Sniffing a little, his gaze turned to face the cave opening. He couldn't see the bears but they could well still be following. He just hoped they’d gone for the meat instead of carried on chasing…it wasn’t normal for bears to attack a party of wolves without reason. You alright, Naniko? Not hurt or nuthin'?

When he finally got inside the cave, he fell slumped, hand on his knees and head practically between his legs. His mind had been whirring and full of adrenaline, yet fear mainly. He didn't quite know the half of it, what a bear could do to a luperci like himself. The young man flashed a sideways glance to Naniko, and gave a start to see there was someone else in the cave with them. In fact, the cave had the smell of hundreds, the smell of a pack. It must have been her actual territory they were in now, yet Frodo had only just realised it. Bashfully, the man scratched behind one ear and then straightened up, giving his tail a brief wag. He waited for his new friend to give orders to what must be her pack-member, and then grinned as she padded over.

In question, his head tilted. The answer received seemed simple enough, yet within the scent he had now familiarized her with there was now a metallic tint, the smell of blood. His gaze realised and trailed down her body at the same time her own did, and he winced at the site of the cut on her leg. Bending down into a crouch, he examined the thigh, making sure he didn't look to endearing as he did so; merely concerned. Ack. he exclaimed, pulling back up to a standing position again. Even when straightened up, it was amusing how much taller she was than him. Luckily, he was well-built enough not too look like a total midget. Strider's fine. he commented, and when the horse heard his name being spoken of, he approached at once, the whites of his eyes dominant for the moment. Frodo placed a re-assuring hand on the stallion's neck and patted the horse, before turning back to the lady. His ears perked up and the black and ginger boy listened to her speak about horse-quarters and her den, before replying. I'm dandy. But yer obviously not. Seem's to me you need to sort tha' mess out, get me? gesturing to her leg, he continued; Let's be findin' these quarters you talk 'bout...an' then we can go ter yours, Jack o' the beanstalk..

The man quickly led his horse around a series of passages and caverns before he finally found somewhere that looked likely the place to put horses. He securely fastened Strider in, made sure the stallion was fed and watered, and the retraced his steps, hurrying back to where he remembered Naniko was. Flashing a smile, he let her guide him across the hallway to the left, as they journey'd towards her den. So which one is it, Snow White?