Swiftcurrent Creek Ghosts

A healthy dose of mistrust was often the difference between a living lone wolf and a dead one, but Valtyr's guard soothed as the stranger stood fast with a neutral posture. The man made his way back to the shore, belly now wet and cold. His burnt ears orbited as she spoke and his copper eyes diligently scrutinized the waif in an objective manner. "No pack? Then... you're a traveler?" he intoned, steely gaze meeting hers -- oblivious to any amorous undertones.