Witch's Marsh I'll never forgive Orange if they've wiped the twins

He let out a guffaw at her joke, rolling his eyes. Aye, sure, Pyg retorted, and I'm the king o' the north. I'd say the company is a little more than okay. He gave her a gentle, amicable nudge, gaze sparkling a deep and fathomless hickory. Ye've got Ibis, Awol, Kulkoo— er, Kookoo— och, whatever. Him, and others.

Pygmalion scrunched his brow in exaggerated thought, glancing off to the side. Who am I forgetting, now. . . He shrugged, sighing, and looked back at Bhediya. Weel, I suppose there's me, too, he chuckled.

With a small groan, he sat back on his haunches, avoiding the soggier bits around him. I'm rubbish with the frog hunting, too, he went on, nostrils flaring as he tried to find the fishy-earthy scent of them again. Up north, we have these little furry creatures. . .lemmings. Swift as hell. They remind me o' the frogs, except not nearly as stinky.

No, his burly body was built for big game, for tracking the caribou herds across vast distances. This small fry stuff was not to his liking.