Stavanger Bay but then again, i hated school.

idly, in a nonchalant way that wintersbane is wont to notice most women since his late wife's passing: she's pretty; tiny. he takes note of her held ground, of the rise of her chin and considers that she is one of the leaders of one of the packs up the eastern side of the coast. it's been a long while since he's traversed up that far ...but there was something about her scent that tickles his nostrils. something familiar that he can't quite place.

hello, wintersbane returns the greeting; appreciating that she cuts straight to the chase. if not for her amiable tone and the small welcoming smile she offers him, the hale tundrian might've assumed he was being interrogated if only because the words were a bit blunt in and of themselves. staying. whiskey-steeped baritone leaves his lips; polar gaze watching her for any signs that this isn't the news she wished to receive.

i'm wintersbane. saltking of this bay.