Tormented Tarns you got time to reconcile with your fear

It wasn't the worst feeling in the world, but it certainly wasn't a pleasant one. Tulimaq stood there for about twenty seconds before the stranger took notice, and when he heard the voice flowing across the tarn towards him. His ears twitched first, and then as he drew himself away from the mud patch and on to some more solid earth, he turned to regard the stranger; they did not seem threatening save for the strength that was inherently there, the strength that Tulimaq found himself coveting in the back of his mind. He wished he could be as large and intimidating as some of his Tartok kin — or even closer in size to this beast, even if he seemed a tad on the lean side.

It was good advice though. Some of this mud wallows must have been quite deep if they reached the tall man's shoulders, and if Tulimaq were to fall victim to those patches he'd likely be up to his cheeks in mud. He nods his understanding, finding his footing on a patch that is quite solid and smells distinctly like the wild creature in his company. He detects notes of ash and sulfur, and salt, like the sea that he misses desperately. This stranger appears to have traveled far.

Where do you come from? You do not smell like the mountains or the grassland north of here. Not like his own scent, which had been gradually shifting away from the ice-and-stone mixture of the north to accommodate a more windswept, herbal, grassy smell; some sort of autumn mixture bleeding in to winter.