Whitefish River i hope it's a phase, or something

It was the sound of moving water that had attracted Frostrar’s attention, drawing him from the thick forest just across the hotsprings he’d taken to haunting for shelter and food. There was a decent sized herd that lingered in it’s midst and presently no pack seeking to stake claim. There are wanderers, like him, those that travel to and fro never staying in one place for long that pass through but he is — for the most part — left undisturbed. The goði didn’t mind the solitude. It allowed him to conduct his rituals and sacrifices in general peace. He moves towards the water with the singular intention of sating his thirst on his day trip outside of the forest. At first, he does not notice the other male in the short distance. Not until he dips his head and starts to lap at the choppy water. It is refreshing and cool and though his red gaze has landed upon the other male he does not pause his drink to address him. Instead, Frostrar acts as if he hasn’t noticed him at all. It is a tactical assessment: of what the other male would do, if anything at all given the opportunity to make the first move.