Ravenshook Cliffs serendipity

his chuff is heard, or at the very least his presence is noted. rusalka's golden ichored gaze studies the bard — for without a name to think of him bard is what he settles for.

the greeting that touches his ears is one that the cairn finds strange, but rusalka contributes that to his brutish and blunt nature that seeps into his own vernacular.

hello, rusalka returns, feeling almost caveman-ish in comparison. a moment of awkwardness settles in rusalka's chest, a writhing thing that lived inside the man, once a wolven embodiment of sea carved saltstone ( inside and out ).

a soft clear of his throat and a smoky offering like a cigar lit in the depths of night, i heard your song. it was ... pleasant. sincere but awkward.

strange, rusalka finds, how easy it was to compliment his wife or his children as opposed to a stranger whose name he did not even know.