Blackfoot Forest all gods dispense suffering without reason

wintersbane watches as she brushes past him with a contemplative hum and then whirls back to him her prowl suggesting that he hush. the dark brother studies her as she angles her face towards him and confides that she can take care of herself ...and he doesn't recall insinuating that she couldn't. wintersbane's lips curl with unfettered amusement as he considers pointing out that she's the one that asked him if he knew his way through these woods first. granted, he'd made and given voice to assumptions but — —

a wolf eater? wintersbane repeats, brow furrowing at her term for the male that's hunting her. he studies her again, gaze assessing and unabashedly observant as he ponders why anyone would be hunting her. it would be rude to assume that she did something to warrant it; and he banishes the thought as soon as she mentions that the male hunting her is demented. loathe as wintersbane was to admit it this wolf eater sounded like just the kind of man that might end up in the dark woods' ranks.

if it's the coast you're looking for, you've been heading the wrong way. he informs her and casts his muzzle northward. the coast's to the north. there's an easier away to the other side of these mountains, he informs her, head swinging around to face south of them. it's probably a little longer but it's safer. we can skirt around the mountains, through the tormented tarns and into fairspell meadow. it's the way i took to get here. not that wintersbane has a necessary aversion to high places — he lived with the moonspear wolves for many months heights do not bother him in the slightest — but he figures there's no harm in letting her know that conquering the numerous ridges she'd have to climb to get to the other half of the map wasn't her only choice.