"It's an old word which means 'spring'," he said, shrugging slightly, unoffended by how curious she found it. "And it's a hereditary name too, like yours, I suppose. Maybe people are just less imaginative where I'm from."  

It was nice, this casual conversation. Of course, he was making a careful note of all the details, trying desperately to build a bigger picture of this land he now lived in. Barreda, her name was - though if she was here alone, her family broken by a flood which happened miles away, it may not have been one of the important names to remember. Perhaps he could just store it under 'friendly' - or, at least, 'non-enemy'.

The talk of the lake wolves, as she called them, was more valuable. A leader who was charitable to loners, what a curious thing - but beneficial, potentially, now that Ziigwan was on the other side of that fence. Desideria spoke of the absence of duties, which was something that Ziigwan could truly agree with as a strange thing, but she drew his full attention with her final question. "I suppose so," he admitted, "though I've not known enough about this neighbourhood to make any decisions about that. It's partly why I came north. It's not entirely my choice - my niece, I follow her lead now. I think she's made it her priority now that I'm here too." Should he admit that he didn't really know how to go about the business of joining some pack full of strangers? How did anyone trust each other without a blood connection? Did they work off bribes, like this Namid? There was only one way to find out. "What are your neighbours like?" He had wandered enough to know that this expansive forest was full of the scent of wolves, and if Fallen Tree Cove made its home anywhere nearby, it must have competition, allies, enemies.

It was strange to be stood here discussing the origins of names as though they were friends, who had nothing better to do. Giving strangers the time of day in this lighthearted fashion hadn't been in his culture just like his old words weren't in hers. It felt whimsical and silly, a distraction from what was important, but he was growing increasingly comfortable with it. There were some things he didn't miss, at least.

The discussion of local packs was, while maintaining that friendly, casual tone, of much higher relevance. When she spoke of a potentially hostile pack - which, he had to admit, was an attitude he recognised - Ziigwan took careful note. The plateau, he presumed, meant that it existed somewhere on the mountain. That was fine - he had no real plans to climb it, having a distaste for that kind of altitude. The rest of her information was fairly vague, though it was good to know that there were numerous families in the forest. "I noticed some marked borders in the willow trees, to the south of here. Do you know anything of them?" From his early exploratory attempts, it seemed as though their willow-dwellering neighbours were the closest to his and Miskwaa's makeshift home in the Rise, but he had not met a single one of their ranks. If they were like the plateau wolves, as opposed to these Cove ones, that may have been a good thing.

Thus he hit the jackpot, tapping into Des' superior wealth of knowledge of the area. She seemed to relax, too, as if talking was her strength and her comfort. At the very least it distracted from her loss, and what she said benefited him. A win-win, he concluded. What a fruitful encounter.

His ears pushed forward as she spoke, Ziigwan attentive and keen to catch all she had to offer. Her knowledge of the willow family largely matched up with his, with the interesting but unsurprising addition of pregnancy. She would have given birth by now, he thought, tasting the season. Going near those borders with younglings had a high probability of being a mistake, unless the leadership was as charitable as Des' own. Ziigwan chose not to rely on the kindness of new parents, both for his sake and their own. That was going to be a problem with most of the established families, most likely - but could he and Miskwaa wait until all the local puppies were old enough to not need close protection? In his experience, that time never truly came.

With the three nameless packs, plus the willows, plateau and Fallen Tree Cove, Ziigwan counted six groups. By the sounds of it, they were all fairly local to his flower-filled rise, too. At the thought, he perked up again, smiling at her. "Sounds like you've been around a lot. I'm glad I ran into you, thank you for sharing what you know. Out of curiosity - I don't suppose you know the name of the field to the south of here? Beside the meadow, and filled with red flowers... We've been staying there, and it feels strange to sleep somewhere I can't name."

She certainly got wordier as she relaxed, but Ziigwan only smiled at her. He was encouraging it, after all. Fireweed Rise, she called it, and his smile grew at that; finally, a name to put to the wondrous place. She explained that the flowers were edible, a notion that hadn't even crossed his mind. Was that something she'd learned firsthand, or was it common local knowledge? "Luckily I haven't had to resort to that yet." Either way, he took notice.

He was not surprised when her body language shifted to that of a clear goodbye. This chance encounter was bound to end sooner rather than later - they both had their own business to attend to. Still, her offer was appreciated, and he inclined his head in turn, offering a sincere, "thank you. To you as well."

As she left, he pondered his next move, deciding whether to return to Miskwaa or continue. But he had plenty of fresh knowledge to share, and found himself extraordinarily keen to tell her the name Fireweed Rise. Turning about with a low hum in his throat, he paused to quench a thirst at the river before heading back the way he came.