Kite nods to the two of them as they speak, quite interested, actually, in where they were from. Mojave, far away. Hexamora, in a pack that was located here. Which packs that? She asked with genuine interest, the scout in her quite curious. She wondered if it had been one she already knew of... or maybe if a new pack had founded in her absence. As she commented on calling this lake home, Kite mentally backpedaled and inhaled deeply through her nose. She could only smell herself, honestly, and she smelled... different. Distracted by it, Kite shakes her head and looks back to Hexamora—Primrose, as she was told—and grimaced. I'm sorry, are... are we trespassing? She looks to Mojave now, forgetting to respond to Primrose's next question in her haste to right one wrong.


If we are we—well, I don't want to speak for you Mojave—I can go, erm, at least to the borders where we can resume our conversation if you want...? How the hell did she miss the marker? Kite really was bewildered, and the Tainn felt ashamed of herself for it. Her eyes fell to Mojave, wondering her thoughts. I mean, obviously they had both missed something... somehow. Kite's brain was obviously not committed to her skull and had wandered free.

Much to their collective surprise, Mojave learned that they were apparently trespassing. Or they were close to it — she couldn't quite decide which. It wasn't entirely up her alley to do such a thing and rightly so, her ears folded back against her tawny head as the wolf spoke of her pack, the one that lived right along the shores of that very lake. For a moment, she chided herself inwardly; how could she have also missed that? Yet for all intensive purposes, it seemed that their greeter wasn't straight up vicious about it. That was most unexpected indeed… and she found it confusing.


"I, er, well," she started of all stilted and uncertain, "I don't have a problem with taking the conversation to the borders, if we're trespassing. I had a feeling there was a pack or two around here, but I just didn't realize where." And perhaps with good reason she had subconsciously avoided them. That conversation stopper allowed her to overlook the fact that the tawny woman between herself and Hexamora (rather, Primrose) hadn't introduced herself. This new development squashed her beamish demeanor, if only briefly. Hopefully she'd be able to save a little face, and maybe her hide as well.

Evidently they were not trespassing. This relieved Kite. She supposed the other must have phrased her initial words wrong... and she noted that she herself had not been the only one to misinterpret Hexamora's words. Mojave seemed as confused as she did for a moment, but Primrose was swift in amending the words. The pack was further away, but the Lake was a part of it. Kite nodding, clarifying she understood now. Fallen Tree Cove... definitely a pack she had not heard of, that was for sure. Primrose thought it was new herself, which meant that if she did not know for certain perhaps she was new, too. Who leads it? I haven't heard of it. Then again I hardly knew all too much to begin with. When I was around I lived at the Woodlands. Nina led around then. She was certain Nina still led, but on the off chance something had occurred in her absence, did not want to give any misinformation.


Primrose was quick to realize her own error, and Kite blanched. Truth be told, she hadn't even realized. The fact that she thought she had been trespassing really overwhelmed much of everything and when she realized they hadn't been trespassing, the relief of it transcended even the fact that she had neglected to inform the two of them her name. Ah, erm, sorry. Didn't even realize, I got so caught up... ah, my name's Kite. The agouti woman smiles warmly to the two, Pleased to meet you both. Kite sat on her haunches and a hind-leg moved to scratch the back of her ear. Primrose spoke again and Kite paused midscratch, listening.


The itch was far from gone, but she put her leg down. Nails didn't help. For the night? She queries, seeking clarification as to what Primrose meant. Kite knew sleeping in a pack territory with the protection of pack was safer than anything else; but she had Mirren, and did not want to impose... still, if Mirren wanted to, who was she to say no? Her eyes slide to Mojave, wondering what she would think, too.

Fallen Tree Cove. The name had quite an allure to it, Mojave had to admit that much to herself. The name itself only helped to conjure up some mental imagery where they lived within a huge hollowed tree; where the wolves there were masters in dendrochronology and spent their days studying what the rings meant. Perhaps their own history was encoded within. But as it were, her little thoughts were minuscule to the knowledge that Kite seemingly possessed of it; her queries piqued Mojave's interest considerably. A newer pack, but yet one that had been around long enough for other creatures to be aware of. Suddenly, she felt so very out of place.


So she stayed quiet, because at the tail end of that query was the same thing that she could not help but wonder. Somewhere pleasant to stay for the night would have been nice, but she was not unopposed to burrowing down in the snow either. With her youth lending a modicum of naivety, she did not consider that this proposition was just that — a proposition — and that this pack and its Cove were in search of able bodies to bolster their ranks and numbers. Her gaze shifted between the two older females and only then did she realize that her out of placement was in fact true; Mojave had never reclined to her haunches. But she idled, not entirely willing to settle yet, as though somehow settling would seal in some imaginary fate to something she didn't want.

Kite figured out just how new Hexamora was by her statement alone. From Kite's obtained knowledge of the Woodlands, it was one of the older packs by now. How many years it was around for she wasn't sure. But by Kite's standard it was a pack known by others that knew their way around. It was an assumption of course, but one she stood by. Kite could have went on, but felt Hexamora was more interested in other things and so went with that. Her eyes remained on the pale Primrose, noting the silence Mojave had kept. Kite's itch was becoming near unbearable, and her own mind was running with too many different thoughts for her to stay much longer.


As Primrose clarified, Kite frowned. I'm not. I promised to return to the Woodlands with my mate, Mirren... Kite pauses, and thinks to extend an offer. If your pack is new, perhaps it seeks allies? If you'd like, I can suggest such an alliance with my leader and return to you in a week with an answer. After Primrose's kindness, Kite thought her pack might reflect a similar disposition. The Woodlands could always use kind allies. Kite remembered the Woodlands to be strong and with plenty of members, so at the time she thought the suggestion one that would merit the both of them. Of course, the Woodlands would always be a strong pack; this, Kite would make sure of. Her eyes fell apologetically to Mojave; but perhaps the tawny Mojave would wish to join Primrose?

And now the real intent of their happenstance meeting was beginning to make itself apparent. She shifted awkwardly, only out of the fact that she had missed the bright red bulletpoint in the syllabus of things. If anything, Hexamora was direct in her intentions and in turn, Mojave found herself balking at the idea of settling somewhere so soon. And before she knew it, Kite was declining the offer because she had somewhere else to be. That was a seemingly common reoccurring theme, Mojave realized; everyone had somewhere else to be. Someone else to be with. And though her isolation was largely self-imposed, she found herself readily attaching to the last things she heard.


"As much as I'd like to, I've got places to be, and places to see myself," though in reality, she didn't have anywhere to be at all. "Perhaps if things don't work out, I'll seek you out?" She felt like it was the least she could offer to the lightly-colored wolf of the Cove, though she hadn't the faintest idea of how it would be received, let alone an acceptable response. Still, the tawny Ostrega could not help but offer a thin smile and hoped that if things went south from their denial that she could at least count on Kite not to leave her behind and at the sharp teeth. They weren't encroaching on borders, but they were still close enough to warrant being driven away and this Mojave knew all to well.