Neverwinter Forest bound for tennessee

When its time was up, the doe expired. Catamaran broke away with an effortful sigh, licking blood and fur from his chops. First his ear and then his head swiveled toward Rökkur as he began to speak, but it soon became clear that Catamaran was not the addressee; the man way praying.

The bounty hunter looked away, his hackles half-rising as he tried to ignore the uncomfortable display. It was none of his business, of course, and he did not begrudge the average man his average religion. But he had had dealings with more sinister packs in the past, and they were almost always connected to strange religions. To hear unfamiliar intonations put him in a mind to defend himself —

But there was no call for that, of course. Despite his bristling, Catamaran bowed his head and bore silent witness to the prayer; the best he could do in lieu of active participation.

Of the suggestion to drag the deer to the caches, Catamaran had little to say. Only, "Alright," though he did not know the purpose of moving the kill to a different location. Sometimes, he would bring a rabbit or a turkey to someplace more comfortable to eat, but surely a kill belonged far from comforts? He assumed that there was some tradition or wisdom that he was lacking in; either way, he was resigned to seeing this job done as his packmate thought best.

He had fewer qualms about Rökkur's next act, which was to offer him the first bite. The bounty had not expected it, but he did not waste their time with discourse. "To your health, then," he said with a rare wheel of his tail. Then he dug in to eat his fill.

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