Ravenshook Cliffs I found myself staring at you

the ivory man stands out in stark contrast against the dreary backdrop of the cliffs, wintersbane observes. overhead, ravens perch upon the rocks, some lazily riding the seabreeze; beady black eyes studying the approach of the saltking. not that the cliffs necessarily offer the hale tundrian much camouflage; but at least he does not stick out like a sore thumb ( except in winter when the snow does nothing for him ). it is the words, a prayer wintersbane deduces, that causes a small smirk to tug at the edges of his lips.

prayer brings back memories of when he was once religious, giving himself to the daedric princes of the woods. it feels like another lifetime ago and his faith in them has taken a sharp decline. it was a nice idle fantasy — nothing more. wintersbane gives a chuff to announce his presence when the man finishes his loud prayer. you’re a religious man? wintersbane draws, when he is close enough to speak without shouting, but sure to keep distance between them all the same. his tone suggests his words are a statement rather than a question.

that he was religious, was obvious enough.

word count: 194