Whitefish River oathkeeper

What the fuck are you doing here, called a vaguely familiar voice; not the wind, not the sea demanding his return, but a wolf lingering on the other side of the scented corridor. The wanderer's good eye, blue like the emptiness overhead, drew across the stranger's face. If there was recognition it did not register on the man's stern features. He stopped walking, letting a sense of calm settle awkwardly between them (although it did not last).

You better have a good reason - started the scarred guardian.
This was going to be my home once. Firefly drawled, cutting through the warning. With a lethargic shift of his attention to the forest around them, the familiar trees, the unfamiliar trails, he continued a moment later. Guess someone beat me to it. A soft huff exhaled from his nose, and the shadow lets the thought of what could've been drift away. He holds no grudges.

But perhaps this warrior does? He looks to Vercingetorix after a beat, and adds: I'm looking for a place to live. There room here? Or, perhaps their warring egos would get in the way of that.