Broken Antler Fen When I was a child, I heard voices;

Cole wasn't one to take in appearances. He didn't care all that much what 'ya looked like, more of how you could assist him. But it was a clear mirror of his own colors, inverse upon one another. Holy shit, does he have a bastard kid, or somethin' of that nature? He held his expression through a closed door, still  holding tight to his straight lined mouth.

He noticed, too, how her speech was slurred— it reminded him of his own cousin with a similar impairment. It ain't bother him one bit. Shit, really? He uttered, her point stating the obvious that he was entirely foreign to these lands.

Ain't no where near here, I reckon. He looked around momentarily, still taking in the serene beauty. It wasn't like the desolate plains he called home. Place'a grasslands. Fields of bison...stuff'n like that.

But he assumed she could be no assistance of home, not that he had much attachment. Bearclaw Valley? That 'round here?