Felltree Marsh painting greys

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”Indeed” he rumbled, his strong gaze spotlighting her as she crossed her legs like a proper little lady. Komodo looked for a moment too long before tearing his eyes from here and turned his head, giving their fallen landscape a wool gathering look. “Don’t know if I’ve ever stopped traveling, really.” Some wolves operated better within the structure and stability of a pack – but Komodo found stability in reliance on a single, solitary wolf: himself.

And the gods, of course.

The brute turned his head back and loosened his stance, rolling his shoulders forward and back.  A breath was drawn in through his leathered nose, but he could scry nothing from her scent, as pleasant as it was. It surprised him as much as it intrigued him, for Komodo was a curious man and would never back down from and opportunity to learn more about something or someone.
Her voice was light and smooth, greatly contrasted by his deep intonations. However, he did learn some language outside of the common tongue during his travels. ”et tu?” he asked her, butchering the melodic structure the language. It was the only phrase he knew that somewhat resembled the sound of her speech, so a wry smile settled upon his features and he waited to hear her own story.

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