Moonspear as dark as the fallen star

Now there was a note of interest—Rannoch had lead a pack. Dirge only knew fragments about the fellow, but their previous interaction suddenly made more sense. That particular scrutiny he had chalked up to some sort of test, which it had been, now seemed to be force of habit if nothing else. Beyond that he had a little trouble picturing such a thing as other bits of information had come about modestly; the hospitality was strange to him, but Liffey seemed to emanate the same quaility.

Her wistfulness stood out for a beat and he thought to inquire, but did not. He knew all he cared to on the matter and could surmise the rest. Something awful happened and events led them here, presumably among them the collapse of said pack. Just as well he didn't comment either, as she continued on and concluded swiftly in a laugh. He smiled again, that paper-thin spread that was gone in a flash to have words replace the void.

"Winter does seem to bring out the survival quailities in us," though abject paranoia may not have been one of them, "but I would imagine they're fine with some wandering. I don't push it being gone more than a day or two all the same. Best not to give anyone reason to turn me out into a snow drift. I've come to like not eating leftovers too much." For him, it was a matter of respect as much as it was keeping up his end of a bargin. He wanted comfortable lodging for the winter and in exchange he'd help however he was needed. But spring would come and he would go, of that he was certain, just not a moment too soon.