Wheeling Gull Isle corn liquor tastes sweeter in this town

The goliath of a beast tried to make himself seem more hospitable then, more friendly. The attempt was admirable, but the coywolf's expression did not shift. It mattered not to him whether they stood or sat, or even lounged across the shifting sands waiting for the tide to come in and lick at their feet. There would always be a difference between him and the rest of any lot, just as there had been a difference between his world and theirs.

Still, the question poised was certainly one that netted amusement.

"Why are any of us here?" His muzzle raised to appraise such, considering: "What brought you here?" Was this one too, cut of the same cloth? A practitioner like he and Rhælla, someone tied to a craft that fell along similar lines. But then again he suspected not—there was something far less composed, something more earthy and grounded than otherworldly. More than likely, he summed up the whole of Connor as having another purpose altogether than a tie to some untold mysticism.