Barrow Fields god's either dead or running on double A's

In the scant few moments where silence prevailed, Roach considered moving on. He was leery of the wolves, uncannily, if not expectantly so. Chalk it up to a few bad experiences or not, he didn't just limit to an entire species either. It was all of them that had given him some sort of nugget of mistrust that had been tucked away into what became a mire.

He didn't get the chance to dwell upon it for long either, as his dark-haired company moved towards introductions. An olive branch between them, at least as far as Roach was concerned, and he found himself nodding to the request that followed afterward. "Sure," he said, drawing in a breath, "just as long as you don't plan on sticking a fork in me when my back's turned." He offered Ukko a cheeky grin, though it was far from a joking matter.

"You can call me Ro, though. Let's go."

And off he set towards the span of shoreline in sight; the ocean was still a way off.