Tradition meant a lot to the dark luperci. She loved to read books about far away times, and collected historical facts like she collected beautiful objects. Her sociable nature had only allowed her to spend months alone due to the new and strange (for canines) habit of reading. The voices in her mind had kept her company, but not in a crazy way, merely the mental reflection of words on the page. She sometimes forgot what had truly happened to her, and what she had only read. Not that she'd read many books - a few novels, a cookery tome - but she had devoured them slowly and more than once.
Viking was his name. Noticing the axe, she shuffled her feet away a little as if wary of the hefty blade. It seemed to fit his name somehow, she thought. There was something very impressive about the whole ensemble. Her eyes glanced to his, nervous at the knowledge she was breaking protocol, but intrigued to observe the eye-patch closer. His own gaze was averted, and she wondered if the sullen appearance was a shield for a warmer heart, or if her presence was unwelcome. Not bothering to consider it too much, she just smiled politely and with a "Pleased to meet you, sir," as she turned to check the slowly crispening cakes. "So do you brandish that thing often?" she jerked her head at the axe, prodding the embers around her stone tray. It was probably a stupid question, she knew - it was unlikely that the weapon was just for show. But maybe if she was lucky, she might learn more about his life, or at least the life that he lived here in the mountain pack.