Neverwinter Forest said he was a sailing man

Luhtar glanced at Catamaran, his yellow eyes narrowing slightly as he considered the bounty hunter’s neutral tone. There was something about the way the words were spoken—carefully balanced, lacking the warmth or conviction he expected. It didn’t bother him exactly, but it made him pause.

“Yes,” he replied, his voice slower now, almost cautious. “Long time. I knew him before I could hunt. Before I could fight.” He let the words linger as he shifted to mark another tree, his movements deliberate, almost mechanical.

His gaze turned forward again, scanning the path ahead. His steps were steady, but there was a certain weight in the way he carried himself now, as if speaking about the past brought an old heaviness back to his shoulders.

“You ask about Sólhárr,” he began, ears swiveling to the whistle of the winds as they went, “But what of you? What are your intentions here, in Forneskja?”

Luhtar must have been following Solharr since he was a child, the bounty hunter decided, extrapolating from what little he'd learned thus far. It was difficult for Catamaran to imagine, but he did his best in the moments before Luhtar turned a question on him. One that made his ears stand at attention, if only so that he would not be tempted to splay them back.

"To live," he replied. His tone did not change. It seemed almost that he had no more to say, but as soon as his coral gaze drifted back to their surroundings, he went on: "To keep the territory safe. To keep the wolves here fed."

That was all. He was not closed to the idea of making friends in this place. He even felt a small kernel of appreciation for Solharr. But his main directive was to survive the winter, and to keep himself busy while doing so. It was not feasible to seek out a bounty at a time like this, when the hunting of both wolves and more traditional prey would be more difficult on his own.

"I am a bounty hunter," he said, wondering if this would clarify anything for the other man. "But, the harkonungr has enlisted me for other services this winter."

Luhtar’s ears twitched at Catamaran’s explanation, and his brow furrowed slightly. A bounty hunter wasn’t something he’d heard of often, and it sat oddly in his mind. A wolf that hunted others not for survival, but for… what? Some sense of justice? A living? He shook his head slightly, not fully understanding, though it didn’t stop him from speaking.

“A hunter, then. Of wolves, or prey?” Luhtar asked, his tone blunt. He didn’t mean it as an accusation—his curiosity outweighed any judgment. “Or both?”

The idea of wolves turning on their own kind unsettled him, though he wasn’t naive enough to believe it never happened. Packs clashed, and loners were sometimes forced into desperate acts. But to make it a trade, something deliberate? That was something else entirely.

“And now you stay here,” he added, glancing sidelong at Catamaran. His yellow eyes flicked over the other wolf’s frame, as though sizing him up again. “Not hunting wolves now. Keeping land safe. That’s... new, no?” There was a hint of dry humor in his voice, but it was muted, almost cautious.

“You think you’ll last?” Luhtar asked finally, his voice lightening as he shot Catamaran a sidelong glance, the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at his lips. "The winter?"

The question was not unexpected. This was a more common vocation in the lands that he'd come from, but he'd traveled plenty since he was a cub. There were still more places out there where bounty hunters were an abomination, and by this wolf's tone, he wondered if he'd come from one of them.

"For whoever's causing trouble," he replied, his own voice light and mild. He could see that the man was struggling with the concept, if only because it was something he'd seen before. Still, he was quiet a little longer, murmuring only, "Not so new as you'd think," before he allowed the other man to finish the thought.

He mused a little longer before coming to a stop and planting his ass in the detritus. His tail swished once in invitation, but whether or not Luhtar joined him, he saw fit to begin explaining:

"Safety is my vocation," he said, his voice still mild and even. "Deserters? Runaway brides? There's a market for it, but that ain't my bag. I hunt cub-killers. Mad wolves. Cats with a grudge. I've sat sentry waiting for raiders to show up. Last year, I spent three months guarding a yearling princess while someone else hunted down her would-be assassin."

It was the most he'd spoken at one time since his conversation with Solharr. He could feel himself running out of social energy, but if Catamaran could say one thing about himself, he'd say that he kept going until he couldn't anymore, and then he kept going a little longer.

"I'm not in it for the excitement," he went on, quieter. "Just how things ended up. That's what happens to kids, where I come from. The packs out there don't take loners. You get turned out at six months or so and you learn to make the best of it. Or you don't. And you die."

He stood, stretching just to work the tiny bit of tension he'd gathered back out of his system.

"A winter in one place sounds nice," he admitted. "Even if it ain't as busy as I'm used to."

Luhtar listened in silence, his gaze fixed on Catamaran as he spoke. The other wolf’s words carried a weight that Luhtar found unusual—practical, sure, but there was a distance to them, like he was explaining something he himself wasn’t entirely attached to. The idea of hunting for others, for safety, gnawed at Luhtar’s understanding.

There was something unsettling about it, yet Luhtar couldn’t decide if it was the act itself or the calm detachment with which Catamaran spoke of it. It made sense, in a way, but it felt hollow to him. Safety as a vocation didn’t fit neatly into Luhtar’s world—a world where loyalty was born of shared struggle, not contracts or circumstance.

When Catamaran finished and settled into the detritus, Luhtar hesitated before following. He lowered himself slowly, his larger frame making the movement more deliberate. He sat stiffly, his tail curling loosely around his paws, though his posture betrayed a readiness to move again if the moment demanded it. His yellow eyes stayed trained on the bounty hunter, not unkind but measuring, like he was still trying to piece this wolf together.

“You work hard for wolves who do not know your name,” he said, his voice rough but not unkind. “Hunting killers, guarding princesses. A dangerous life for little thanks.” Luhtar could respect it.

He glanced away briefly, his ears flicking toward the distant rustle of leaves. The question lingered, and though Luhtar didn’t expect an immediate answer, his own thoughts pressed on him like an itch he couldn’t reach. Wolves like Catamaran, loners who survived on the edges of packs and societies, always left him uneasy. They were strong, sure—but strong for themselves, not for others.

That strength was foreign to Luhtar, whose loyalty had always been tied to something greater than himself.

“Loners don’t last long where I come from,” he said after a pause, his voice quieter now, almost thoughtful. “The snow is too heavy, the nights too long. A wolf alone either joins a pack or doesn’t see another spring.” His gaze returned to Catamaran, sharper now, though not unkind. “But you’ve lasted. You’re strong. That’s why Solharr let you stay.”

His ears twitched, and his jaw tightened slightly as the words continued to spill out, steady but deliberate. “But when spring comes, what then? Will you stay with us? Or will you keep moving?”

The question was blunt, as was his way, but there was no challenge in his tone—just the faintest hint of something expectant, as though he genuinely wanted to hear Catamaran say he would stay. Of course, Luhtar wasn't betting on it. The hope, the trust, that he put in others had always been his greatest weakness. It had hurt him time and time again.