Great Bear Wilderness in our town the hangman came, smelling of gold and blood and flame

at the mention of water, he briefly recalls the conversation he'd had with the white warrior nearby the lake. this particular place was full of the hardy types, ready to plunge into the folds of mother nature armed with nothing. he eyes her skeptically, but doesn't protest. a broken bone was a broken bone.
she's curt, for a yearling. when he was her age he'd been full of words and jagged edges, but the girl seems like she'd came straight out of the womb with a dagger in her hand and a map in the other. straight from the fetus to a rugged survivalist. southeast of here, there's a river that leads into a lake, he frowns, rubbing his chin. he'd just come from that direction.
it's less than half a day's travel. there ought to be some herbs there too. his attention snaps back to the meal. he gnaws at a forelimb, carefully unsheathing the bone from the meat, before turning back to her and flicking his ear as if to ask wordlessly, are you going to go?