She’s a smart woman, and when women like Uzma wish to go unnoticed, they do. She’d had no misunderstandings about what the passage was when she’d come across it, and so she had waited until the cover of night to make her move, slinking through the shadows along the dusty sands until she’s safely within territory where she will most likely be left alone. Uzma hadn’t bothered with any haste when she’d followed after the trail of the vanishing Rike; they are never particularly difficult to find, and she is hardly even a cog in their machine. Just a familiar face, and one who has always done her duty.

Night is fully fledged as she makes her way up crumbling mountain paths; her thick coat begs her to find somewhere cooler, and this had been the most obvious first option. Tomorrow, she will set out anew to learn more of this unique place, to find the clan she serves, and to see if their search has proven to be at all fruitful. Her tail whisks slowly behind her as the mottled woman reaches the end of the path, the edge of which drops off to the world below. For once, she allows herself a few moments’ rest, reclining quietly on the cliffside with her paws lounging over the side, the rosy shade of her eyes surveying the vast landscape laid out before her.

@Odhgrimm

Since the very beginning he had not wanted to scale these mountains. He had resigned himself to believing that their choices were their own, and he wouldn't involve himself until necessary. Or until they sought him. But they haven't yet (aside from the dog among them). And despite how well he knows they can get on without him, Odhgrimm would be a piss poor doctor if he did not check in on his most favorite of patients. The lion consoles himself with the belief that he misses the taste of their blood on his tongue. They, as a collective, have been quiet too long.

Over and through does he move against the mountain, overcoming the obstacle of terrain and foregoing even a great many specimens worth obtaining. Between his teeth is nothing today, his collection left behind in lieu of a lengthy journey to find the hidey hole that his cousin has led his kin int- Vile green eyes find her against the greys of the cliffside around them, the pale contrast of her haunches not enough to save her from his predatory observation. Even as her scent tackles him on the icy breeze, the lion perceives only one truth: she is almost (but not quite) in his way.

Against the stony ground below him, the lion's many claws scrape, forcibly dragging against the ground beneath him as he continues to move forward without slowing. Already (still) he is only walking, a lazy pace that will get him there later than sooner but with promise and without fail to where he wants to be. No matter if she seems oddly familiar, his eyes lingering on the amalgamation of her markings, he moves to be parallel and then surpasses her (attention as fleeting as his would-be presence if he has his way), continuing over the edge that she hesitates on to dive deeper into the tundra. The Rike lay beyond, and he figures now is as good a time as any to pull them out of hiding.

@Uzma

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The crumble of gravel is unmistakable, and in the silence, it’s a sharp sound to draw her attention. Her ear pivots casually, warm breath fogging around the curves of her muzzle as her skull turns to take a look at who is drifting into her company. He seems intent on plowing through, all but ignoring her presence, but Uzma finds more recognition than he. Her brows furrow -- the two tones of his mane are an easily recognizable tell, as are his massive paws. She has seen him more than once before, seen him with them and knows he is more than just an obsolete passerby.

"Rike," she calls out softly, a croon on the breeze to capture his attention. She’d use his proper name, but she doesn’t know it, and so she opts for the closest thing that is certain to catch his intrigue. Uzma is not ordinarily the sort for pestering or interrupting, but his presence has simply made her task at hand so much easier -- she would be a fool to let him slip away so quickly. Whether he will recognize her, however, remains to be seen.

Uzma pushes herself up more properly, coiling her tail languidly against her hip and settling her forepaws neatly beneath her. She is otherwise quiet, waiting patiently for his initial judgement on if she is worth his time; she won't pursue him any further if he continues on his way, though she would prefer a direct route to her intended destination, rather than wasting more time than is necessary seeking them out.

@Odhgrimm

ooc: belatedly realized that I goofed w the location and comprehension of your post. obvs he didn't.. y'know.. just walk off of the cliff. sorry 'bout that.

Assume he does that the rest of them have been lounging, resting their sore paws and chilling their hot bones. Travel certainly did not suit them all, especially through lands so vastly different (read: warmer) than their homeland. Not for the first time Odhgrimm is thankful that he does not have the excessive hair that some of his kin possess. Being better able to tolerate the higher temperatures has benefited him greatly since their journey began. If he were a lesser creature, he would ruminate that this was yet another reason why he was a more superior specimen. As it stands, he merely acknowledges that at least his kin have made it back to their precious snow after all this time.

What they did not do, however, was take this route to get there.

Only a few paces past the lioness, he halts, claws curling over the edge of the dangerously high cliff. Off to his right, Odhgrimm spies the northern mountain range in the distance, the one that he had balked at when first tracking his kin inland. Fixing his eyes on it for a long moment, he realizes that he has just climbed the wrong mountain. Perhaps his newfound poison was more affective than previously believed. Jaw tightening, he drops his gaze to the lip of this drop-off, seeking a route down. The edge extends outward a great many feet, a haphazard zigzag that showed no apparent symmetry at all. Finding no paths down, the lion looks to his left, then, and in his peripheral he can see her there, knowing now why she has chosen to rest here.

There was no way down from this cliff except back, and he knew not how far back that was.

Just his luck.

Right when he is hoping that she'll let him recover his energy in peace, her voice softly says his name, and the ear closest to her swivels to better capture it. Startled, he remains very still for a moment, collecting himself. Only after a few breaths pass does he turn toward her, and by this time she's just finishing her posture change. He's thankful for it, not only because it certainly seems to him that she is presenting herself (as a proper woman should when met with a Rike male) but also for the better view that he has of her, of her features and markings. Slow is his appraisal, lids half-mast, seeking something telling about her aside from the vague sense of familiarity. Had he seen her in passing somewhere back home?

Never has he tended to her, that much he knows for certain. The lion would have remembered her dark face and paws, as well as the smattering of freckles on her shoulders. Even the rosy eyes, uncommon in color and in how steadily she watches him. It is not often that Odhgrimm believes that he too is being evaluated. That alone makes him think more carefully about how to respond to her, and while he deliberates the male moves away from his own ledge to stand parallel to her, facing back the way he has come aside from his bearded face. "Was davon?" (what of it) he queries, a twofold test. He knew not the extent of his family's enemy in this realm. If the Sigrún have warned their followers of the Rike, Odhgrimm would not be the fool to accidentally announce their arrival too early.

@Uzma

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She expects his scrutiny. He would be little and less a representative of his family if he did not possess it, but he is slower than some of his counterparts, more methodical. More level-headed, perhaps -- or more wary. Uzma retains her silence as he makes his evaluation, though she is doubtless making one of her own; there is intelligence present within her hooded eyes, unmistakably keen and astute. However, where she takes notice of many things, she does not often speak on them, and acts upon them are even rarer still. She is well aware that her place is to be seen and not heard, and Uzma maintains that even now -- especially now.

Her ears perch neatly upon her skull when he finally breaks the quiet with a language that is familiar, though she doesn't know the words. Uzma has heard it many times over the years, and can easily identify the dialect; she had grown up with a different tongue, however. "I'm afraid I don't speak german," she states, her voice lightly accented with swedish undertones. Luckily, they seem to be utterly alone upon the windswept mountain -- there is no one else to overhear the common words.

"I've been searching for you since the dispersal from the homeland," she begins with something of an explanation. She doesn't mean 'you' in the literal sense of him, but the Rike in general; the collective. "Consider me a...friend of the family," Uzma hums, tilting her head ever so slightly as she observes the one that she has been so lucky to find. Truly, she had expect it to be more difficult than this, but she supposes -- given that she has been searching for months, it's not so odd to have finally found one. Somehow, she had just expected to be looking for longer. "Uzma Sjöberg," the huntress offers easily, seeing no reason to hide the truth of who she is from him. This is her entire purpose for being here, after all.

@Odhgrimm

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Attentive to one another as they are, he takes note of the intent, unabashed manner in which she watches him, one that is quite reciprocal of his own. It is but a hint to her inner dialogue (at least her brain isn't full of static), and it makes him wonder just how that particular conversation is going. He's curious for no other reason than a deep-seated need to know whether she is to be killed here and now by his hand or not. Their forces were too small, yet, too unprotected to risk ousting themselves to the expected mass of the Sigrún. Even if his enemy did not have allies in their pocket, their numbers outmatched that of the Rike.

The fact that she cannot comprehend his mother tongue does not help her case. Sigrún did not speak German either, after all. And with that accent.. Suspicion roused, the lion narrows his eyes at her, ears coasting backward to fold into the hair of his dense mane. If he were an impatient beast, he might have tapped his many claws against the stony ground while she began her explanation, but he is not and so he merely watches her, jaws pressed tightly together. Her surname is familiar, and though the particulars are lost on him, Odhgrimm recalls an alliance between the Rike and her people. His memory being halfway decent saves her.

"You have found me, Sjöberg," he says, knowing fully that she intended the 'you' to mean his family and not himself. But if she hasn't found any others of his kin since arriving, he wouldn't be confirming their presence just yet. Names can be falsified, accents can be mastered, and lies were not always so easy to detect. Loosening his posture, the lion leisurely lowers himself right where he stands, easing himself onto his side with his fore-end propped onto his elbows.

"I suppose that makes us friends now," he muses, the slightest of smirks lifting the right side of his pale mouth. "Odhgrimm," he tosses casually between them, lifting a forepaw to his mouth in order to lave his cold-cracked pads with a barbed tongue. Whether she recognized the word as a name or gibberish was not his problem, and despite all of his lack of trust, he'd rather his own name circulate within the ranks of the Sigrún if this little girl proved to be a crafty informant. "Does that mean we should get to know each other? What's your favorite food and all that?" It's mockery, and it's obvious by the lack of humor in his voice.

@Uzma

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Uzma cannot fault him for his suspicion. She's always stuck to the sidelines, making herself scarce and providing when she is needed, though it had more often been her mother interacting directly with the Rike. She is the sort to have watched often and rarely make herself known; she was of little importance to them then, and she's never questioned her place. She imagines things will be different here, to a degree. However many of them there are, she doesn't doubt that they are less than they had been, and they may well have need of her yet.

Some women might falter under his scrutinizing glower, might try to sputter further explanations in a desperate attempt to appease him. Uzma, however, has never stunk of desperation, and she doesn't entertain the idea of starting now. In this, she is poised and patient, as she is in all things. If his judgement passes harshly, she would accept it. There are few things Uzma desires in life; she is driven primarily by duty, and a need to serve. If the Rike cast her away, she would be lost, in a sense. Tactical woman that she is, she would truthfully rather be dead if she's not welcome to serve under their banner.

Eventually, however, he concedes -- to a point. She is spared his ire for half an olive branch, and though she can still sense his underlying distrust, she is at least given opportunity to prove herself. Friends, he dubs them, though it isn't without a bite to it, and an implication that he is every bit as deadly as the rest of them hangs thickly in the air. Where @Odhgrimm reclines, comfortable and confident -- for doesn't he have the upper paw, regardless? -- Uzma remains perched in her position. Not out of fear or haughtiness, but for a simple understanding that this is not her place to relax or lounge. She's never been the indulgent sort, anyway.

A ghost of a smile flickers across her lips when he questions her, his tones thick with sarcasm; he doesn't seem much the type for small talk, and neither is she. But still, Uzma humors him with a little pique of her brow. "If that's what you would like," she hums open-endedly, her tone suggesting a willingness to comply, but her pause leaves room for more -- a confirmation or a denial. She could suggest they do something more useful with their time, but she isn't the type to broach such a subject with a Rike man (or with any man, truthfully). Idle paws may be the devil's playground, but if that's where he wishes to linger for the time being, it's not her place to suggest otherwise. She's happy enough to answer any question he may ask of her -- even the trivial ones that seem a waste of time for the both of them. She does hope, however, that he will opt not to subject her to such a silly conversation that she is well aware neither of them particularly care about.

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What small glimpse of the smile he has given is wiped from his face by his words, expression settling back into his usual neutrality. It is neither angry or sad- it merely is. His nose is straight and sharp, neither broken or scarred (yet). Those green eyes of his are bright against the dark of the mask that reaches his forehead and cheeks, but they're pale compared to the blonde and white of his beard, of his mane as it wreathes his face and throat. Most prominently today though for this @Uzma is the unnaturally large paw that obscures the face that is above described. He still hasn't lowered it, salmon tongue rasping across it in small and slow strokes, careful to clean in between the pads that he scours.

But, for some reason, this does not deter her attention, and his own blatant scrutiny of her does not incite some pathetic display of panic or appeasement, either. Which, as far as Odhgrimm is concerned, was the usual reaction to either, or both, especially from submissive women. They seemed to think that the easiest way to a Rike male's heart was to do as he said with an extra flair of fear, or otherwise assume his wishes, which is why the grey lion has yet to take one for his own. Not that he is thinking of how useful she may be to their cause, critical of mind and eye, refined as she seems from this first impression. No way. But the lion also notices how she does not make herself comfortable even when he does, her posture remaining upright and ready but not rigid.

From deep within his chest sprawls a low, brief chuckle. Her words spur a great many amusing responses, and he briefly wonders with a slight narrowing of his eyes just how much he might get from her if he demanded it. She seems thus far the pliable type, but burying his balls always came with a price, and as of yet he knew not if she could afford it. Odhgrimm weighs her conviction with his eyes, lowering the aloft paw to the ground without fanfare. He doesn't let it drop, he places it. "I would like," he begins, and the emphasis impresses the importance of words unsaid, "to see no betrayal in my future." He pauses a moment to let that sink in, his tongue sweeping up and around his mouth from corner to center. When it sinks back into his mouth, there is a brief flash of his teeth. "You seem to know what happens if I do."

Need he explain?

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She is evenly matched in patience, but where hers is bred from obedience, his is the sort of patience that is inherently dangerous -- intense and calculating. Everything he does is slow and methodical, but she doesn't even remotely doubt the ability to be explosive when he wishes to. He takes his time, lording over her his inherent power in this situation, and she remains yet unbothered; Uzma's skin is a difficult thing to get beneath, and if that is his goal, he'll be hard-pressed to achieve it.

His face is concealed by a massive forepaw for a time, whittling away at the time with idle grooming until a chortle rumbles from behind it, and she is met with his full attention. If his amusement is a good or bad thing, she has yet to determine, though she does find it curious that he's found something to humorous at all.

She meets his gaze quietly and unwavering when it comes, her skull tilting an incremental amount as @Odhgrimm offers something of a threat -- a reassurance, should she forget her place. Even that does not bring Uzma to falter under scrutiny; her gaze is as even as it has been, without a flash of fear to be seen. "I am aware," she affirms, her tail curling idly up against her hip and laying the tassel neatly over her forepaws. She knows quite well what displeasing the Rike would mean; she's been witness to it before, and is no stranger to their brutality. If anything, Uzma has an appreciation for it. It's the sort of thing that keeps lions loyal, and in a world so unforgiving as theirs, loyalty plays an important part. She is, as ever, calm and expectant, the wordless cant of her brows enough to spell her question: do I pass your test?

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Between them stretches a silence, but it does not last long. She breaks it with an affirmation, one given with the same placid disposition as before. Odhgrimm is strangely pleased by the calm curl of her tail against her body, of the way she does not balk when he presents her with blatant threats of violence. Except they both knew it wasn't a threat. It was a promise. Yet this woman understood, something he has seen only fleetingly in his youth. Sure, women threw themselves at Rike feet and behaved where demanded, but true obedience and acceptance of consequence was rare as far as the grey male was concerned. Again, this is why he has not settled on a mate. Lionesses were far too troublesome.

"Then you will be mine," he says quietly, claiming her into his own hand of cards, his brain still working on how to prevent espionage if that was indeed her long game. "What are your skills?" he demands gruffly, eyes drifting away from her as he takes in the rocky terrain that now lays before him, alongside the trail he had used to get here. He's somewhat pleased to find that there is vegetation intermingling in the area, but it's frigid up here and most have withered to die until spring's sunshine revitalizes them. Odhgrimm studies a few specimen, thoughts on buchu, mango and wolfsbane before he realizes she is watching him, a brow quirked in question.

He lowers his ears pointedly and crinkles his nose at her in response because no, she didn't.

And she might not ever.

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