Arvid was actually just stepping out of his den when the call sounded. He’d been thinking about rechecking his borders, given the amount of guests he’s due to expect for the celebration; even considered putting something along the border to show loners and other wolves who had never been here that ‘yes, you’re in the right place,’ when the call came.

Some part of him wonders how hoarse his throat will be by the end of the week. He heads down to the border to meet with the one who called. A female, about the same age as him, however, and doesn’t appear to be covered in scars, at least not the ones he can see. Her coat suggests she’d do well in a colder climate, such as Northfall.

Good evening, Arvid bows to her in greeting. I am Arvid Stormborn, may I ask who my caller is? He smiles and tilts his head at her, allowing his citrus eyes to take in the sight of her like a fine wine.