Shandom wasn’t quite sure how many years it had been since he got his scar, and since the last time he set foot in Etienne. If he thought about it, it was probably around two – two full winters of being alone, leaving enough time for his rendezvous with Keli to come and go. It had been enough time for him to adjust to living in a world that was always slightly off kilter, enough time for him to hone his other senses so he was not at such an extreme disadvantage. He’d long ago accepted that he’d never be able to really fight again, but he could not deny he missed the thrill of a spar.
He could feel the female’s eyes on his scar, and he gave her a knowing smirk. She’d extended her hand and introduced herself as Saxif, and Shandom paused for a moment. Why was she extending her hand? That had to be some sort of weird custom… wait. Tourniquet had told him about this. When he’d left Adonis and her, Adonis had gone to take his hand in a similar manner to Saxif. The polite thing to do would be to take hers, firmly, and shake it. Eagerly, he clasped her hand in his own and shook, internally proud of himself for remembering that cultural nuance. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Saxif Goldenfeather,” Shandom said, grin still stretched across his cheeks.
Her explanation made sense, and Shandom nodded as she spoke. He pitied her plight – for him, the inability to run on all four of his legs sounded absolutely awful. “How did you injure your arm, if I may be so bold as to ask?” he inquired, words as comically polite as ever. It was simply a product of his childhood, though. “Please, do not feel obligated to respond if you do not wish to speak of it with a stranger.” He gave her a sideways glance and smile before returning his focus to the sticks and sinew she’d handed him. Shandom carefully examined them, feeling slightly strange, and slowly attempted to tie a knot in their center. It took several clumsy tries, but he succeeded; with a huge smile, he placed them next to Saxif. “Is this right?” he asked.
She asked him where he was from, and for several moments he was silent. He supposed he was now from Cours des Miracles, a Southern pack, but it felt weird calling that his home when he’d spent so little time with the wolves there. Shandom drew a deep breath and furrowed his brow, deep in thought. “I suppose you could say now I am from Cours des Miracles, a pack that has been kind enough to take me within their borders. I unfortunately have not spent much time there, as for the past two years I have wandered and I am accustomed to a life doing so. It is a difficult and strange adjustment. But before that I hailed from a pack named Etienne in Alaska, quite far from here.” Shandom chuckled slightly, aware that he was completely rambling and the female probably thought he was insane.
Once again, her eyes returned to his scar, and Shandom flashed her the same smirk. “Curious about my scar, Miss Saxif?” he chuckled, rich and baritone. “It’s ok to ask – I promise I don’t bite… Unless you’re into that.” He winked, tail twitching slightly. She was certainly pretty.
