Blackfeather Woods her face it bloomed like a sweet flower [m]

wintersbane isn't entirely sure because he's never attended a religious rite or anything of the sort before today but he feels like it's drawing to a close. he shifts his weight and stares back at the offerings. a strange combination of things but as he understood it the gods of the wolves of blackfeather are strange and dark beings. his face is sent in an expression of contemplation and unbidden curiosity ...about the deities he'd written off so very long ago, about what they could come to mean to him in given time. he thought'd he'd been following astara to his enemies but none of the wolves here currently are enemy to him.

he inhales deeply and lets it out, his glacial gaze flickering back to the listener just in time to catch her soundless murmur that looked like gratitude. though words bubble and burn at the tip of the tundrian's tongue he bids them to stay unspoken. though he does not know if there are any rules here at this altar it still seems wrong to break the silence that has existed peacefully between them. instead of a verbal response, the tundrian gives her a firm nod of his head communicating 'you're welcome' ...though he feels as if he should be thanking her for shifting his perspective. as he was quickly learning, the world was a much larger and more interesting place when approached with an open mind.

though he thinks he might be alright to leave he lingers, waiting to see if she has anything else she needs of him, waiting for a dismissal ( because he does not want to be rude ) before he would make his departure.