Bearclaw Valley "I have plans for you."

He would have snorted if he'd cared enough about her impediment; the concept of a pathword made sense to some extent though, and he put aside the rest of it. The answer was there: Ursus had not risen again. There were no ghosts or ghouls here, no one-eyed witch doctors, nothing. It didn't matter at all really, but Glaukos was still curious.

The woman was possessive of this place. Glaukos flashed his teeth but it wasn't menacing, at least not on purpose — it was closer to a wheeze through his teeth, a mirthless laugh, a gasp of it anyway.

I'll leave. There was no reason to be here and he knew it. There was no Ursus, there was no Avicus—he knew that part already, she was on the Rise—and there wasn't a reason for Glaukos to linger. He pulled back a step but he made a point to regard the woman in a lazy manner, almost dismissive, and still without worry.

I was only curious of the place I was born. His nose wrinkles as he sucks in a breath, clears his throat. There's that sleepy quality to his expression as he turns his attention away from her, and begins to stalk the path without even watching where he was going—because he knew these paths so well, even now.