White Wolves

'White' Is No Name for a Wolf

After a short while of just staring at each other, Geralt and the wolf came to an agreement. He, first of all (and probably not much to the poor pup's liking) turned the creature around to determine whether or not he was dealing with a boy or girl - not that it mattered, but it felt better to know. A girl, from what he could see, and then he placed her on the floor, trying to remember exactly what he knew about wolves, to try and determine an age. He realised that he knew enough, but he hardly was an expert. Either way, he knew that poor creature was probably hungry, and so was he. Then there was the matter of his actual business to take care of - and that ideally needed seeing to while they still had the light. What did he do with his new friend, though? He didn't want to risk leaving her here, there was the potential she'd cause a mess, get into everything, be noisy, and the last thing he needed was to lose his room because of a stray dog - essentially. Carrying her like he had been was not ideal, though... "Will you carry on being settled?" He asked her, as if she was going to give him any kind of response "Or are you going to create all kinds of chaos now that you know you're staying with me?" The fluffy creature, still half covered in mud, but drier, was exploring the small room now she had been put back down, claws tapping against the worn wood, he could hear her padding feet, not a hunter yet. Youngsters were not as light on their feet; quite like witchers to begin with, he supposed. He turned, having a sudden idea, and knowing her snuffling around the equally worn bed, and furniture was not going to harm her, began to rummage in the pack he had brought in with ihm, the bag resting against the nearby wall. He really needed to clear this thing out, he decided. He moved a hand over a broken spoon (he'd since got a new one) that had been forgotten about, a small pack of dried fruit that had been in there for gods knew how long, an empty vial that he was surprised hadn't smashed, and then realised that it was probably cushioned with everything else in there. 

Eventually, though, he found what he was after, and unfurled a rolled up satchel that had made its way to the bottom of his pack. He held it up, trying to visually measure it against the wolf. She wouldn't stand still long enough, though, having found a stray leaf to tumble about with. Eventually, he crouched down again, and made a soft noise at her "Hey, c'mere..." He encouraged, almost as he would a horse. In truth, Geralt did not have much of a point of reference for how to handle a wolf. He hadn't been all that exposed to dogs, but he'd found out enough in his days, and was fond enough of them, cats did not like him. At all. It wasn't even worth pretending with a cat, and the only animal he knew he had a good handle on husbandry, etiquette wise was a horse. 

Which was not what this wolf was. 

He sighed, watching her fall over herself, all paws, and scraggly tail, before she looked up at him. He took that moment to whistle at her softly, hoping that would get her attention enough to bring her over. It did, and she came barrelling to him, still very curious for a wild animal. It was almost a little unnerving, in all truth. Still, she came and he managed a smile, quite proud of himself "I guess first of all I should name you, huh? Might have more chance of coming over to me." That was what you did with a dog, wasn't it? But gods, he wasn't very good at naming things...

Where was his bard when he needed him? Probably galavanting off in some court, or after some nobleperson that was frankly dangerous to court. That, or the minstrel was getting in trouble somehow else, somewhere. They hadn't seen each other in some time. Jaskier was far better with words, his profession made it so, and he would know something good to name her. Probably something far too fancy, but it would be better than his poor brain was coming up with.
"Snowy?" No, that was dumb "Luna? Like the moon? Hm, overdone, I'm sure..." and all this time, the animal stayed put where he had caught her between his hands, just gazing up at him with blue eyes, big and round and with fur contrasting. The man recited off a few more failed names, before he hummed, brushing a careful finger through her muddy fur "You're white. Can't call you White." He snorted, and then had an idea "Gwyn?" Then he was suddenly excited, and smiled "Gwyn. Sounds better in Elder Speech, huh?" Better than 'White' in Common, at least, and because not many would know the meaning it simply sounded a pretty name. "Gwyn." He tried it out, and watched her as she wriggled, licking at his wrist "You like that? Yeah, I think it suits you."