Gilded Bay strength before weakness

Perhaps it was true that they had lost a sense of familiarity in the time that they were apart. Changes were bound to happen with that much distance. It was not to say that Guildenstern wasn’t interested in what had taken place on his brother’s journeys, or how he had managed to lose one of his eyes, or even what it was that had drawn him to the wilds where they stood. The pale knight was not yet sure how long he wished to stick around. If Rosencrantz had any lengthy stories left in him, it would eat far too much of Guildenstern’s time and he would have been forced to remain there through the night. If he were to decide to remain, he would think on those questions again.
 
When the honey-eyed male spoke of the North, Guildenstern squinted his gaze and frowned thoughtfully. The statement was truer than he wished to admit. All his life, he had imagined that he would live and die only upon the wild tundra of the frigid North. It seemed rather fitting that he should have found himself pulled away. To think that he would be standing on the edge of the sea with his brother was almost fantastical to him. It did not seem to fit in the realm of reality. Their ability to adapt was probably one of their greatest strengths, he would have imagined. It was what allowed them to stand there, experiencing what they were, without breaking composure.
 
“A year? Seems a long time to have roamed the same territories,” Guildenstern remarked with the softest touch of surprise in the back of his voice. To think that his brother had pledged himself to any group for an extensive amount of time was almost shocking. The longest that Guild had spent with any one group had been the Arinbjorn. This had only been because they had allowed him to wander whenever he pleased, so long as he returned with hearty meals for their pack members and news beyond their dismal stone walls. Though he did not know better, Guildenstern found it difficult to imagine that his brother’s life would have been any different.
 
When the questions were directed at him, the stoic figure bobbed his head from one side and then to the other in a thoughtful motion. “Been here and there,” he offered vaguely. It would have taken him a long time to explain what he had done since they had last seen each other. “Worked for a few groups before moving on.” It really didn’t matter much what he had done before arriving there. The past was not something that he was fond of reflecting on. There wasn’t much back there that held his interest, anyway. If he had experienced the thrill and rush of war, the touch of a woman against his frame, and the elation of a successful hunt, then he did not need to cling to the past. It was present action that ruled his frame of mind.
 
“Tell me of this pack you have joined.”