Neverwinter Forest where silence comes

So this was it. The two wolves — both taller than him, both older, both cool but amiable — looked at him expectantly, and the little rugged wolf felt the grass beneath him turn into a stage, and sunset a spotlight.

Ico realised then that he wanted to be open and honest about himself, and that meant having some confidence. Speaking the way he felt most comfortable speaking; in story form. But doing so without filling up the soundwaves and praying on the patience of Mal and Vallkyrie.

W-well sir, I'm from an Easterly pack called Walnut Grove, he began with a bit of a stammer, but soon found his paws. I took to no physical skill or tangible talent, but drunk in knowledge and tales like moss in a stream. When I came of age I was told to go my own way, until — after a few false starts — I ventured across a pack who helped me realise that failings in hunting and fighting do not make me useless. I became known, in my own small way, as a Chronicler — storyteller, historian, anecdotalist. The world, I think, is best understood in story.

But the pack had a dark side, and in fact proved more dark than light. So I ran away to find it. The light. For Ursus is a cult of blood, and I couldn't find it in my heart to truly be one of them. I've been on my own for the season, learning how to hunt small prey and map the mountains in my head. I finally committed myself to finding a new home, a new place to stay put, when I saw... when I saw your forest.