Greatwater Lake Synkverv

When he moves toward her, she slinks back a few steps. She stops, his offer catching her by surprise. Why should a perfect stranger want to help her? They haven’t even exchanged names. Well, he gives one in the very next breath, but her tongue remains glued to the roof of her mouth.

She tries to work it loose, lilac eyes squinted. Berserkir doesn’t trust the offer to help. It makes no sense to her. Still, she tries to make sense of it, her mind whirring. She realizes, quite abruptly, that the wolves around here don’t seem to pay any attention whatsoever to pelts. It makes no difference here if you wear black or white, or something in between.

Why? is what she finally says. Why you want help me?