King Elk Forest Jokers dressing up as kings

There is much on Mato’s mind as he patrols the borders of King Elk Forest, using it as a therapy to work through the tedious burden of things that plague him. He is selfish enough that he wants only to disconnect from them but knows that these are things he must, instead, address. Burke’s failing health and the assumption that he will not live through this winter, Malice’s seeming lack of care as she lets him out in the cold to collect snow literally ( a memory that still burns the druid ), the influx of strangers after months and months of quiet and solitude, and Brienne’s miraculous return and apparent attitude that would appear to Mato to be increasing in surliness as the days pass on — not something he can continue to brush under the rug he tells himself.

Mato is drawn from his contemplations as a call rises into the frigid air. He is already heading in that direction, upon a stroke of luck, but he quickens his pace to intercept the owner of the howl all the same. He finds her soon enough: small and svelte, her pelage a mottled collection of soot, grey, silver and some accents of whites. Mato’s tail raises over his back in his approach. With a lift of his chin he addresses her, “This is Tindómë, and I am it’s Morwinyon Mato.” The druid makes the introductions on his side before he fixes her in his apple, green gaze. “What brings you to my borders?”