Nyskre

"Do you have a name?" Altega asks, padding around, sniffing the air around the other wolf.

"I was never given a name." The lighter wolf chuffs back, tail lifted and ready to run if the need should arise. He is used to this. He is used to running.

"Were you a runaway as well?" Altega asks. His voice is nothing but a growl, and he swears if the wind or the birds were just a little louder, he would not be heard.

"I was never part of a pack. Left for dead by my birthgiver for the twist in my back leg by the leader of the pack." He feels ashamed even saying this.

He acts nothing like any wolf Altega or Ishvit have ever seen, though they have seen very little.

"I was also left by my pack. For a deformity." Altega turns and shows off a paw, theres an indent of what looks to be a spiral on the paw pad, and curling ribbons of blue-gray spiral up under the fur of his ankle, disappearing into the fur up his arm. "They thought I was cursed."

"Me as well." Ishvit speaks up. "In a pack of all dark wolves one with white fur is seen as a curse. They release us once we are past milking age, to find our own packs. There are countless of us white wolves about in this land."

"Nyskre." He says suddenly, "call me Nyskre"

And so it was. In wolf language, Nyskre means something like newcomer, or new scavenger. It seemed fitting to the three.

He was still warry of the two, and probably would be for a while, but Altega was just happy to have a new member of his man made pack.