Sawtooth Spire bad bitches is the only thing that i like

the call that rises into the chilled air — made more bitter and sharp by the heights at with sagtannet called their home — is weak sounding; uncertain. wintersbane is nearby, patrolling the borders and quickly diverts his path. he backtracks through snow: deeper in some areas of the borders than others but follows his own path to where the call has risen.

the woman waiting at the borders is cloaked in a pelage of light brown, with black and white markings that wintersbane ponder are as unique as his 'mane'. his glacial gaze is assessing as he approaches, posture tell-tale of his rank without excessive show. ❝this is sagtannet, stranger,❞ wintersbane introduces. ❝i am wintersbane. one of the eisen's. how can i help you?❞ he asks, glad that he's finally remembered to introduce himself without being prompted ( this time, anyway ).