Duck Lake a game you're gonna lose

<style type="text/css">table.ragnar {background: #ffffff url("http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v190/theder/ragnardertable_zpsefab268a.png") no-repeat top center;}</style>

"All things begin and end as stories," Ragnar told the woman, lowering his already soft voice in an attempt to add enigma to his words though he was, by far, not true saga teller. His religion allowed him to believe in what she thought was nothing more than 'old wives' tales'. Yet, Ragnar did not share this particular thought with her for the simple fact of keeping what was his, his. Not that, given by her reaction to his curiosity in her 'zombies', she would have believed anything he had to say anyway, Ragnar assumed. Ragnar's gaze of caribbean ice followed the motion of her paw tapping against the quite deceased duck at them, feather unsettling from the haphazard looking disfiguration of what it's once shape. It seemed that he had mistaken the meaning behind her words, easy enough given the language barrier and the sometimes trouble it presented him with despite his fluency in both is native and the common tongue. "What did you mean?" Ragnar inquired before she explained to him how she had meant the comparison of her and her zombies. Stoic face studied her as he took in her words, attempting to make them different than the meaning that he had assumed. "Do you not have a trade? Or join a pack?" Ragnar inquired figuring those were both two surefire ways to find purpose.