Redsand Canyon I know you haven’t said a prayer in a month or so

A shaman then came, a woman draped in ghostly white like Nyra. Though she was not a behemoth of a woman, like a polar bear, and she held feathers through her furs and skull of a fallen wolf over her face. Mismatched eyes peered beneath, she was silent and so was the hellhound, struck by her a moment as bloodied eyes watched her. 

Then Donovan answered him, catering to a place that would hold them over best in the winter. Living in a cannon seemed like a warm place to many who did not know one. But Hemlocke had lived in one through his youth and the cold nights cut harder then anything he had felt before. He would be happy for the move and but, 

Derg's words were offputting. Large bat-like ears turning back. The hellhound was stiff in his placement, remembering why he often kept alone, if not having light conversation with one at a time. Tension was high and Hemlocke felt awkward, uncomfortable. 

Hemlocke's eyes tore away, and he thought for a moment to mention the Bramble woods which he had lived so lonely before. Not many came to the Bramble and it was large and unkempt. No one who knew that forest well would find them so easily through it. But, ever unconfident with himself, he kept silent. He shifts back a few paces from the group and settles down to only listen.