It had been so long since his own music filled the skies. Strel took off from the hotel without a word to Noss, but he man had not been home either. They would both find their ways back to their bed later. Strel needed time on his own, with the sun setting behind him and the stars coming out in the east. Taking his lute and a single bottle of wine, the redheaded tailor headed for the docks in Lunenburg, wanting an open natural setting. It was beginning to get brisk, the air colder than he remembered it. The sun was setting in the west, and the purple sky before him was darkening, and the small dots of distant burning stars started to glow on the dark canvas. The moon had begun to wax not too many days before, and it was still a crescent piece in the sky.

He gazed at it, and found the sound of the sea getting louder the further east he headed. And soon, he saw the waves crashing against the breakwater in the distance. The sea was a strange color, one he could not aptly describe. It seemed as though fall was mingling with the winter hues in the waves, but it was too gentle to be winter force. Setting himself down on a cement railing with his legs dangling over down to the moist rocks below. Taking the lute in hand, he strummed a chord absently. It was off key. Well, of course it was. When was the last time he had played the poor thing? So long, too long.

As he tuned it, Strel took a drink of the wine; it was weak but it was just to drink, not to get drunk. As soon as the little lute was tuned properly, the redheaded man began to play a song, absentmindedly. It was a song he had heard somewhere, or had read somewhere. But mostly, it was by ear. It sounded melancholy to his own ears, even as the sound mingled with the dull roar of the waves crashing below him.

Strel strummed at the lute, trying to ignore the prickling sensation at the back of his neck. It was always doing that lately, what with the fighting about. He was careful to watch himself, even in the kingdom. There was a fear about him, and he was trying to figure out a way to learn to properly defend himself. Strel had the natural self defense instinct and he knew how to attack an elk to kill it. But fight another wolf, and those tactics are something they share and can replicate, and defend against. Most of the people in the kingdom were warriors. And he was not. He was the Dauphin, the one who knew the culture. But he suddenly felt the need to know how to defend others, not just himself. He ought to ask Noss to teach him something.

He finished a chord and set the lute into his lap, rubbing at the dust on the rotund body. It was normally so shiny, even in the dark night with nothing but the moon to light it. And now it was dusty; he had kept it in his 'closet' for so long that it had grown out of tune and dusty.

Her steps had been muffled by the sound of wind and water, but when she spoke, the redheaded man turned slightly toward her. His hand was tight on the neck of the instrument as he gave the young woman a light smile, not entirely devoid of unease. "Hello. How are you adjusting here?" It was a formality he knew how to deal with. Strel had practically taught himself to be the courtier, and it was what he was the best at. "Come, sit. It's a nice night," he said as he patted the rather cold ground beside him.

The redhead nodded along with the woman, smiling faintly. Good, she was settling in alright; that was good. "Ah, don't worry. It'll get easy in due time. It'll won't be too long, trust me. And plenty of us are friendly. If anyone isn't, send them to me and I'll deal with them properly." He waggled his finger at her, making sure to keep his lute tucked tightly against his torso. It would not due to have the instrument falling into the sea, where he would have to launch himself in to rescue it. The ocean was terrifying, and it was only because of the soothing sounds did he even bother venturing so close. But at least he had chosen a spot with a very shallow tide.

Pearl asked if he was worried. Of course he was. How could he not be? "War, dear, war. It's not a nice subject and it's all that I can really think about. I don't want it to come here, I don't want the people here hurt by it." Strel sighed, twisting around to grab his bottle of red wine. He took a sip of it, and then offered it to the woman. "Would you like some? It's fairly weak." She had sat down beside him, but he only now looked at her again, bottle in hand. "If you don't drink, I can put it away."

Strel laughed weakly at her comment. "I daresay that's true. It'd be a big pain if I were a leader and wanted to fight other packs. What for? We have what we need. Getting greedy, that's what makes them do it." He waggled a finger at her, as though he knew exactly what he was talking about. Not really, to be honest. He figured that had to be why people started wars, but this war had not made any sense to him. Though maybe they were greedy, for one reason or another. Regardless, Strel would not pit his home against another without good reason. "Unless it's in defense, I suppose."

The woman took the drink, and did not seem to mind it nor the alcohol part of it. He gave her an admiring smile, remember his sputtering the first time he had tried it himself. "I'm impressed. Have you had alcohol before?" Granted, it was only wine and it was significantly weaker than what he had been given by that Russian man. It was much sweeter and softer than that alcohol. What had it been? He could hardly remember it at all. Was it really so long ago?

The redheaded man eyed the younger woman, cocking his head at her as he tightened his grip on his lute. His inexperience was rather large, though his time in the pack was what qualified him for his position. "Not long. Perhaps two months. But I've been here for more than two years, maybe two or three months after the pack was started up, too." He turned and gave her a rather sheepish look. "Probably thinkin' I'm pretty green."