Grouse Thicket out of the mist

Ulrich frowned again at Ensio's next words, that he couldn't help his bad luck. Well. No one could help their luck, although Ulrich wasn't always sure he believed in luck. Blaming everything on bad luck could just be a sign that someone refused to take responsibility for their actions. He followed the man's gaze up to the mountain, listening some more. I'm sorry about your pack disappearing, he offered, softly, thinking of the place he had left. He had been glad to go, but now he imagined the Isle disbanding, its members scattering to the wind, and it made him sad. He hoped that never happened.

At the offer to hunt, the frown left Ulrich's face, to be replaced with a grin. A hunt? Of course! Splitting the catch seems fair, so that's fine. Grouse, did you say? He chuckled. I'm afraid I'm not very good at catching birds, but I'll do my best. He studied Ensio for a moment. Did you scent some earlier? If so, I'll let you lead.