Otter Creek oh, how can this be? i’ve finally found peace

she repeats his name, breaking up the syllables. ❝you can call me bane if it's easier,❞ he offers with a casual shrug of his shoulders. he's taken so many monikers, been called so many things that the shortening of 'wintersbane' wouldn't bother him in the slightest. ying, the woman introduces herself as wintersbane watches her drift closer. for a moment he's tempted to assure her that she was in danger of losing him but allowed the proximity all the same.

perhaps he shouldn't ...just as there was a part of him that tells him he is cruel and heartless for not mourning andraste anywhere near as long as he should've, that he shouldn't be looking at another woman and thinking her pretty, that he is a monster ...

that —

that he is all of those things, yes and sees no use in mourning those that would not return for long periods of time. his life would keep on going.

❝to be honest, i am a master warrior ...not a hunter,❞ he could hunt, of course, as all of their kind could. ❝but we could use the extra meat and i was beginning to become something of a hermit.❞ he half jokes; though, perhaps not to the extreme as most hermits: he still socialized and tended to leadership duties in sagtannet. ❝i am from sagtannet. we call sawtooth spire our home.❞ he gestures in the spire's direction with his muzzle.

❝you're from the coast, right?❞ he inquires, making the assumption if only because she smelled heavily of seabrine ...but last he knew the famine and calamities had chased the remaining coastal packs from their homes.