Garm looked over the German Shepherd; the dog did indeed have a regal manner, but it was lost on Garm. Even a deer had pride that she was part of a herd! It made no difference to Death if you were a prince or a pauper, in the end you were dead. Yet this fellow wasn't a deer, Garm knew that much. He was a canine, one of them; did he have an owner like they had? Or was he feral? Tyr's mind handled these things, but Garm's mind did wonder if there were more of him. Bunches of prey meant a larger probability of capture, but competition? It was rare when he had been part of a group, but now it was just Tyr and Garm; war and death, though the odds, when one thought about it, were not against them. Garm's mind, it should also be said, didn't seem to remember or recount his times in a pack. He couldn't name another member's name, nor his owners'-but he had lived in the wild, he had learned and seen other dogs. German Shepherds were vicious, Garm remembered. He was larger than them both, but Garm only saw it as an advantage; it was easier to bite up than bite down, at least for him. Again his mind wandered. His fangs probably would fit around Skoll's neck like a collar, and Garm merely blinked at the thought. His bored countenance almost made him appear laid back, and had he been another dog, born of other ways, he may have laughed aside what he had said. But this dog, whether or not he was to die today, still stood between him and Death and still opposed him. Garm found this intolerable, but for now was dormant.
”I take it you are of these lands, then, if so, would you be able to tell us exactly where we are? ”
The Greenland Dog's skull shadowed his friends'; it too nodded, although he only copied the actions of Tyr. Garm's eyes stood on Skoll, not wavering, although he seemed to be falling asleep. He paid enough attention to the conversation to know that Tyr was asking where they were; they certainly weren't in any place Garm recognised. Then again, traveling as a wild dog and traveling as a human's comrade lead to different settings. Still, Garm would have thought to remember a place that would have been quite an erotic fantasy for him if he was of the romantic type; the blood coloured trees matched his mate well – but as he was simple minded, or so it was to be believed, he had only the thought that the place reminded him of blood. Such a place would be hard to forget, even with Garm. He could remember some things, surely, such as Tyr's name, his name, and various other bits of trivia that were needed in order to survive. But, when this German Shepherd-who would soon give his name as Skoll-introduced himself, would Garm remember? Probably not.
"My name is Skoll. Skoll of the Southern Alps pack, on whose land you tread. This land is claimed by Lord Raidon and Lady Hitora. Do you seek passage through it?”
Garm's head tilted slightly at the name. It held an echo of ironic familiarity, but there was more to it than that, far above the reaches of Garm's mind. What he focused on, instead, was that this dog insisted on calling these lands owned. Garm did not know the native lingo, it hardly troubled him, but Lord Raidon and Lady Hitora did not seem like 'Death' to him. He raised his head and sniffed the air slowly, catching passing whiffs of other dogs, “your leaders do not own this land. They only use it. Death owns the land, and he will come back to claim it one day.” Lowering his head, Garm's eyes looked over Skoll again; their was an essence of ominousity in his voice, but even it was blinded by the simplicity of Garm's voice. He still stared at Skoll though, with a predator's gaze. He made no aggressive movement, and in truth cared little about who owned what land, anyone could have stood where Skoll did and Garm's gaze would have remained the same. He blinked slowly, and the dull eyes were like the triggers of a gun. Although his fur did not stand, although he was not tense, he was waiting for some sort of cue from Tyr. Of course, Garm had no care of killing Skoll or anyone on these lands, had no reason to take over the lands or otherwise – but he was one to enjoy death. Without it, the world...wasn't the same for Garm. It was a boring drone of absolute nothingness of lively life and flaunting flora and fauna when he would want nothing more than the opposite. Oh woe was Garm.
Word Count: 871