Lost Creek Hollow without you

Wardruna offers no explanation for his decision to guide her to Easthollow’s borders from the rear where he can keep her in view. Perhaps a medic might be able to look at the blood pooled in the irises of his left eye and deduce that he no longer has vision in it upon glimpse alone but he runs off the consideration that she does not know that and works to keep it close to his chest. As far as he’s concerned: it’s not something she needs to know. Not now. Perhaps not ever. Telling her would imply that he trusts her and Wardruna doesn’t. His blindness in his left eye is his Achilles heel and he knows better than to broadcast such a weakness to the world. He only told Valette because it had been necessary at the time and it was likely she would find out, if not suspect regardless. As they go along, Wardruna almost doesn’t expect her to answer his question and when she does his ears cup forth atop his skull as he processes what she tells him. She doesn’t have a name, she says. She is no one; that will not do. His salmon pink tongue draws across his jowls as he watches her stabilize herself against the wind and he moves forward, quickening his pace to slide his blindside against her to keep her steady with a low scoff under his breath, suddenly wondering if it’s possible for her to just …blow away. “I will call you Noma.” He informs her simply and though she did not ask he offers in return, “I am Wardruna.” In a softened rumble.