Deepwood Weald with your sick head

The disciple watched him a moment longer, mismatched jaspers flickering keenly as they searched for sign of deceptions but the boy -- man, she corrected, for he could not truly be called a boy despite the childlike fragility the dark merle was imbued with -- seemed genuine, shattered in a way that sucked her in. The Priestess had always had a soft spot for broken things, often considered one herself for the voices and colors others could not see and hear. The she-panther softened towards him, lips tugging down at the corners with more concern than stranger should feel. 

"Ye should eat den, yeah," Mati says simply, nudging the leg towards his massive paws. She waited a moment, allowing a comfortable silence to settle as he ate his fill. Even with a find of such proportions, the dragoness is sure that the massive wolfdog will make quick work of the deer's limb. After a moment, she asked: "What're ye doin' out dis way, if ye don't mind me askin?"