Firestone Hot Springs and our throats were bare for god

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Valtamr is struck with the realization that he cannot actively recall the last time he has been in the company of another and there is a ghost of a frown tugging at the edges of his lips but it smooths out before it can fully take shape. He does not wish her to think he disapproves of her company for he does not. He does not perceive her as a threat and thus she is welcomed to relax in the wolf jacuzzi hot spring pool with him. The reality of the situation is, anyway, that she has just as much right to it as he does. The hot springs are a neutral territory and he did not realize how utterly starved for conversation he was until he made the decision to breach the silence with a verbal greeting. She returns it after a few moments and his attention drifts back to her — for it has drifted to the steam rising off the adjacent pools within his view — as she poses her question aloud for him. “Yes,” He replies with a small roll of his shoulders, stretching beneath the water to loosen his muscles. “The warm water soothes my left, hind leg.” A much younger Valtamr would have visibly winced and sputtered at revealing his physical disadvantage so openly to a stranger but older Valtamr only seeks to use his honesty as an olive branch. She would see the ruined flesh eventually, if she does not depart before him, that is. It isn’t as if he can exactly conceal it. It is ugly and the fur has never regrown to cover it. Perhaps, even, she could see it through the water — Valtamr does not know. He has fallen victim to age, to strife and to the wounds of war. It happens to all, eventually. “What of you? Have you been traveling also?” Valtamr asked conversationally though without obligation.

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