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Hai! 
Belle seemed calm enough where she stood grazing, reins fastened to a slightly naked tree sticking out of the snow. Dawali sat on an empty satchel and waited, restless. He was told that the new pack, Anathema, was nearby somewhere to the east, as well. The Chief had long regretted his weak and fraying relationship with the packs far to the north of his own territories, and since spring he had contemplated a diplomatic trek. He sat here, now, still quite uncertain about this clan, though he had met with Kaena thrice. Still, she was only one face among the dwellers that claimed the title "Inferni", and he was not at all certain that he would be welcomed by them as a whole, just because he would be welcomed by Kaena. He had not boldly approached their borders and called, this time, for this time his goal was not as selfless. This time, he stopped well outside their borders and made no call; he could only wait until one of them smelled him on their patrol route and decided to check him out. AniWaya would get along for a week or so without him while he traveled. His plan was thus; he would travel to the farthest north first, and as he made his way back contact each of the packs. The three northernmost packs were the ones with the weakest link to them, diplomatically, and Dawali sought to change that, to strengthen them. Who could say no to a Chief seeking a supply trade?
The satchels held many things, but one held his own stuff, and the red wolf had quickly taken some pieces of cloth from one of them and continued the weaving of a half-finished carpet he'd brought along. It was crude, but it was for the stables, so it was not a problem. His fingers grew stiff in the winter, and the old wolf shuddered where he sat, trying to amuse himself as he awaited attention from someone.
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OOC: Yay! ^_^ (Word Count: 384)
IC:
Border patrol calmed the nervous coyote. She walked along easily, dressed casually in one dyed fur piece, a single top that matched her hair. Originally a dusky brown doe pelt, Saraqael had tinted the entire thing green. Pleasant mossy hues now intrigued the eye and a careful one would note that the color became brighter as the skin became paler. It still had some fawn spots on it and every one was precisely filled in with a vibrant blue. The garment tied simply around her neck and at her back in a bikini style, hiding her already barely visible breasts. The rest of her was unclad and uncolored save for her cropped mane.
When she picked up the scent of a foreigner, Saraqael's pace slowed to a halt. The ghostly girl sniffed tentatively but could not recognize the particular odor. It didn't matter – she was only hesitating, delaying the moment when the stranger would have to meet her, obviously Inferni's most ferocious and feared protector. At four feet and ten inches and skittish as a mouse, she worried that someone, specifically a wolf, would perceive her as weak and make to assault their lands, not to mention her frail form. There was not room for cowards in Inferni, though, as she had gathered from their bold statement of gruesome border decorations. This in mind, she approached the stranger with care.
He was not at all what she expected to find. He sat silently, a docile, living statue looking chilled on the snowy scape. As she approached she could see that his hands worked surely, weaving some sort of fabric into a large sheet, perhaps a rug. He was not bearing weapons and his mount was tied, peacefully grazing on bits of grass that had persisted through the snow. Most peculiar were his chosen adornments, a copious collection of feathers that stuck out from him as though he himself were somehow partially avian. The beads and threads that rooted them there were the only things to give them away. She could spot them as tiny specks of vividness in an otherwise unspectacular sea of brownish gray. She appreciated his flare immediately as she neared she called to him in her tiny voice. “I am Saraqael of Inferni. Do you have business here?”
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WC: 499
Liking your writing! A lot!
He could smell her approaching, but chose not to do anything at all. Focusing merely on his rug, he wasn't trying to ignore her (for her scent gave away her gender with ease). To him, it was more polite to allow her to approach him, than for him to rise and walk towards her in greeting. He wanted to make no movements that consciously or subconsciously could be read as some kind of advance against their pack - at least not in that sense. Of course, his whole reason for being here was to stretch out another hand to Inferni, establish and nurture that little connection they had. Still, it was risky not to do anything, because he could not see her, and she might just as well attack him as anything else. He was not blind; he had seen the skull-fences many times. While he felt they were barbaric and cruel, and it pained him to see remnants of wolves that had once lived lined up on display like that, he could also understand why they had done it. They were a small clan surrounded by stronger wolf packs; you did what you had to do, and a fence like that could easily scare off any boastful youth who decided to have a piece of coyote to play with.
Her voice sounded, and Dawali quickly put the rug down and rose, turning to face her. She was smaller than he had expected, but that was not what he noticed first. He was used to AniWaya being home to the most adorned wolves (and coyotes or hybrids, for that matter - they were all welcome) around, but this one put much work into her appearance. Dyed skins and clothing draped her body, and he studied them for a moment, noticing colors he was unable to make, curious. "Greetings, Saraqael," he said, bending his neck to somewhere between a prolonged nod and a bow, maintaining the position just long enough to make her understand the meaning of the gesture. Smiling politely when he opened his eyes again, he explained himself, hands weaving patterns in the air in front of him in the rhythm of his words. "My name is Dawali Amara, I am the Chief of a tribe called AniWaya, the southernmost in these parts, and far away from here. Previously, I have met with Kaena thrice, but outside of this my tribe has no relation to Inferni. I want to change this, however, and I come seeking a peaceful trade of materials or animals - what you should desire." He smiled. It did not matter much who it was who conducted the trade, as long as it was another face. Another face in the pack that could vouch for him, should he ever have the need to speak with their leader, Gabriel. He had chosen not to demand his attention yet; the coyotes seemed to be a wary lot, and Dawali wanted them to be able to trust him.
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OOC: Thank you! <3 I quite enjoy your writing as well. Sorry about poor Saraqael.  Word Count: 1007.
IC:
She wondered how she looked in the gold light of his older gaze. A spectacle, perhaps? A freak, for certain, but she had chosen to look this way. If Kaena had disapproved of her wares, or her form, or even the abnormal color of her silky coat, the grizzled female would have said so and likely asked her to keep from representing herself as Inferni. Saraqael would have been turned away, back out into the snow to find refuge in another land, far away from the coyote leader she had offended. None of this had happened, of course. Instead the red-nosed woman gave her permission to settle where she liked and that had been that. Clinging to the memory, the fae used such a fact to quash her self-doubt, helping to kill the trepidation that was building about her impression on a stranger. In any matter, of what importance was it to have an outsider approve of anything about her? None, but the male before her was not an average foreigner. The wolf had not begun his introduction with any caustic sleight, either. Instead he had turned his face from her and bore his neck in a gesture of peace and trust. She thought him bold – being mistrustful by nature would never allow her to behave with her life so riskily. Regardless, he had made his intentions clear. Danger and scorn would hopefully have no place in their meeting, then. A ruffled, silent sigh leaked out of her lungs as the tension of apprehension escaped her breath and body. The girl willed herself to relax. Her taut spine slipped slightly, easing into a more natural curve, and the claws of her hands ceased to make painful indentations in the pads of her paws. Her toes released their clenched hold on the snow-blanketed earth, leaving dribbling white crumbles in their wake.
Willing and interested, her bleached ears stood taut and erect, leaning forward to capture his full, lengthy message. As it was delivered he flourished wildly. She imagined that his hands were weaving a loom or a web with those graceful and flowing motions. Whatever the resulting design, if it had been visible, she was sure it would have been a thing of beauty. Refocusing her attention, the imp took three main points from his pleasant, even rambling. The first was that he was a chief – a head leader – of a pack of wolves (she assumed automatically and incorrectly), making him important, a person to be revered. She could see why. Saraqael continued to perceive him as sagely and kind, and he continued to enforce her ideas with further exhibitions of his character. The second point was perhaps most important, that Kaena had met with him more than once, leading Saraqael to believe firmly that he was genuinely non-threatening, maybe even a friend to the pack. The final note involved a thing she had not expected to be so fortuitous as to encounter. People willing to trade were harder to come by than ever in those parts of Nova Scotia. Every soul seemed proficient in a plethora of skills or services, making specialists such as herself obsolete, effortlessly outcompeted in every venture. Dawali, as he called himself, could provide her with business, and if he enjoyed her product, might in turn inadvertently advertise for her. Nothing would have made her feel more successful or useful than a clientèle base.
Realizing she was getting too far ahead, Saraqael checked herself. The chief had not yet stated what precisely he was looking for, leaving the transaction open to suggestions, it seemed. If ever there was a time to speak, she felt that it was now. “If you are looking to trade for materials, I am a dye-maker and fur-dyer by profession. What you see on me today,” she said, motioning to her torso, “Is something I have made myself, though I also make skirts, anklets, armbands, bracelets, and thigh bands. The skins I use for the smaller pieces are mostly from hares and this top is a young doe pelt, all of which I kill, skin, and cut myself. The colors featured are dyes of my own making and the designs are mine by hand.” All statements were made matter-of-factly in her soft, unmusical soprano. Finished, her nerves sparked again, delivering a mild shock to her beating heart. She hoped sincerely that her pitch had not been poor, that this strange male would find a use for her carefully-honed skills yet.
“If that does not suit you,” she began again, intending to give him an obvious and simple out, “I would be happy to escort you to the mansion or the caves in search of another who might have more pleasing wares or talents.” It occurred to her that she had no interest in cornering Dawali into bartering with her. Despite that she did not yet trust him, she respected him as an acquaintance at the very least of Kaena and as a ruler of his own pack. Shifting uneasily on her digits and determining that they were done for the moment, she decided to examine her surroundings again. Naturally, being the most purposefully placed feature, it was the skulls that grabbed at her vision. A flush of embarrassment, hidden to the older canine, sent heat rushing to her cheeks at a revelation. It must have been awkward and horrible for him to come each time to see skulls everywhere of his own kind. As far as she could see, he was either a red wolf or a hybrid. Even for her, a purebred Mearns coyote, it was difficult to distinguish the difference as they shared similar features including larger ears and more slender muzzles. Saraqael wondered if they hit home. She could not – would not – apologize for the acts of Inferni, but she could feel guilt and did as it settled into a hard ball in her gut. The girl hoped Dawali answered soon so that they could move away.
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