Mudminnow River every hermit crab needs a shell

Kvarsheim, another pack. Maybe nearby, maybe friendly. He’d have to keep the name in mind, should he seek refuge someplace. Lestan, too, sat down. Mimicking the beasts motion. Jaggedly plucking at stems, tapping against them. Strange behaviours. Ones that were anxious, or merely the nature of such a character? He wrinkled his nose thoughtfully at the question directed his way.

Hmm. I guess so. Something, someone, it’s irrelevant, Frederick blinked, tapping his tail against the ground as he thought to himself. Kvarsheim—what are they like? I might pay them a visit, unless you’d enjoy having me at your creek. The man flashed a charming, toothy grin, before settling back into an easy smile. His eyes, though, blue-green like little earths, remained intense, constant thoughts swimming behind them like white little fish.

Oh, and—What’s your pack like, Lestan, may I ask?