Neverwinter Forest bound for tennessee

he followed like a shadow, slinking behind the blonde man. he held himself low, quiet. a hunter in all ways that one could embody the word. the forneskja wolf had offered his name, catamaran, and so he would deliver his own: rökkur. he said, hushed. northern accent thick and gaudy, rumbling from deep within his chest.

squinted, similarly scarlet eyes portrayed a harsh demeanor, though the curve of his maw suggested otherwise. rökkur returned his gaze forwards. he would have time to analyze this man after the hunt. deer scent grew closer, though no cries nor calls yet. still a few ways ago, though they were coming up on the tracks.

black-tipped tail begun to sway, slowly, low around his haunches. blazing eyes focused, almost to the point of ache. nostrils flared. while being a kappi had been his occupation, being a veiðimaður had been his lifeblood. a skill that he had put time and energy into honing. a part of his worth; his self-appointed duty.